


When Charlie Met Cas

by riseofthefallenone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Destiel - Freeform, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Season 8 Spoilers, Some Swearing, adorableness, and Charlie ships, mandatory Winchester angst, the fandom returns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie is back in all her glory. The Winchesters have showed up on her doorstep and she’s making the best of it the only way she knows how. By being the little sister Dean never wanted and shipping the shit out of Destiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shipping It (FedEx Style)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve only watched Season 7 once and that was a month or more ago. I adore Charlie, but I probably didn’t capture her properly since I am not even on the same scale of awesome. But I gave it a go and we ended up with this because certain people (cough[freckledbuttchester](http://freckledbuttchester.tumblr.com)cough) put plot-bunnies in my head and all blame falls in that direction.

Charlie was a cool kind of girl. When shit hit the fan, she tucked and rolled and dealt with it like the best of them. So when Sam and Dean Winchester showed up on her door step well over a year since they sent her off on that bus, she simply shrugged, stepped aside and gestured widely for them to come in.

Now the pair were seated at opposite ends of her couch, beers in hand while she fiddled with her temperamental oven to try and get it to warm up enough to cook a couple of frozen pizzas – one vegetarian and one meat-lovers, supplied by the hunters in her living room.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with those Leviathan-things again, does it?” She called from the kitchen, “Dick Roman went MIA a while ago – it was all over the news – so I kinda figured you two iced the bastard.”

“We did,” Dean grunted, “And it got my ass sent to Purgatory for a year.”

“Seriously?” She poked her head out of the kitchen, eyes wide.

“Seriously.” Sam shifted.

Both brothers looked uncomfortable and she let the topic drop, “So what brings you boys to my neck of the woods? Got some major corporations you want me to crack into? Or some fake IDs made? I’m a pro at those, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, we kinda did. Lizzie Walker, was it?” Dean smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“You can still call me Charlie. I liked that one better - though that _was_ a few aliases ago.” Charlie paused, nails picking at the folds of the pizza box, “How _did_ you find me anyway?”

Sam and Dean shared a little grin. Dean took a swig of his beer and Sam turned his secretive little smile on Charlie, “We’ve got our own little blood hound. He’s really good at finding people when we need them to be found.”

“I covered my tracks pretty damn well. How’d he find me? He some kind of elitist hacker working for the government or something? I wouldn’t put it past you two to have someone on the inside now.”

Dean almost sprayed his mouthful of beer across her coffee table. She frowned at him as he struggled through a mutant hybrid of coughing and laughing and muttering something about ‘holy tax accountants’ and ‘technologically challenged’.

“Did I say something funny?”

“Not really. He’s just being a jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean coughed back and shot his brother a glare.

Charlie fixed a wicked grin in place, “I can see why the fandom ships you two.”

Both of them turned mirror versions of the same mix of disgust and horror to her. Charlie was mildly surprised that they knew what she was talking about, but she cranked her grin up a few notches wider and ripped the edge off the pizza box with a flourish, turning back into the kitchen as she did so. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t try googling you guys? Low and behold there’s a whole _book series_ about you two! And the fandom? Whoa, nellie. They are _devoted_ to their ships. And all that homoerotic subtext was just crying for a ship or two, or three.”

Dean grumbled incoherent obscenities and slouched deeper into the couch to take an ever longer drought from his beer.

Sam shuddered and rubbed a hand through his hair, “At least Chuck stopped publishing before he put out any books with Castiel in them. ‘Pretty boy angels’ would have sent the fandom into hysterics, and with all the staring you two do and your ‘profound bond’-“

“Sammy!” Dean hissed the same moment Charlie practically barreled out of the kitchen and all but threw herself across the living room to sink into the space between them to ask - almost too gleefully - “Who’s Castiel?” with wide, excited eyes and leaning well into Sam’s personal bubble.

He stared at her for several seconds before his eyes slid up from her face and to Dean. Charlie could feel the heat from Dean’s glare on the back of her head and she whipped around, leaning against him. She schooled her features into the picture of serene seriousness and asked, “Is he your boooooyfriend?”

Dean choked on air and his face went three shades of red before Charlie jumped up, giggling, “Don’t get your panties-” He turned another two shades darker and that almost made her stop to make inquiries but hey, who was she to judge? “- in a twist. I’m just teasing!” She stepped on and over the coffee table and slid back into the kitchen to snag another few beers from the fridge.

Sam caught his and Dean nearly took his to the crotch when she tossed them. Leaning against the doorframe to keep an eye on the stove timer, she tilted her head again, “But seriously, angels? I don’t remember you mentioning them the last time around.”

Dean’s expression hardened and he fixed his eyes on her massive computer set up (for lack of anything else to stare at in the room) and Charlie’s pretty sure her computer would be toast if he was secretly the X-men’s Cyclops. The guy sure could stare intently at stuff. He downed half his freshly opened beer without a word while Sam shot him nervous little glances. 

“Cas was kind of… out of commission-” He didn’t flinch when Dean glared at him, but it’s a near thing, “- when we met you.”

“He better now though?”

“Pretty much.” Sam shrugged.

Charlie sipped at her beer, “So… angel. How’s that work?”

“Think Superman with invisible wings, epic smiting powers, and a tan trench coat.” Sam shrugged again, “Lots of bright lights and sudden entrances. His mojo lets him pop wherever the heck he wants to pop – as long as he knows where we are first. We used to just call him on a cell phone, but now we just say a prayer and he pops in.”

Dean lifted a finger off his beer bottle and pointed it at her threatening before Charlie even got the chance to slip on a sly face, “Don’t you dare.”

“Dare what?” She raised an eyebrow, donning the wide-eyed innocent look she was oh so good at, “Don’t dare to say something like… ‘Dear Castiel, angel in a trench coat, this is Charlie – friend of Dean and Sam – and we would really, _really_ like it if you would join us for beer and pizza while we discussed the reason the Winchesters decided to drop in on me unannounced. Please.’ That sound about right?”

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line and Charlie felt a little thrill of fear go down her spine at the positively venomous look. She might have commented on it or casually slipped back into the kitchen so Sam could deflate his big bro before Dean brought down his own particular brand of wrath on her head, but Charlie found herself very distracted by sound of fluttering feathers and the new addition to the couch.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“You must be Castiel! Or do you prefer ‘Cas’?” She smiled brightly, “Nice to meet’cha. Would you like a beer?”

He nodded, “You as well. Cas is fine, and yes, please.”

Dean was looking pointedly at the computer again, but Charlie didn’t miss that the tension was slowly easing from his shoulders or how he grunted a quiet ‘Hey Cas’ under his breath and was answered with a soft ‘Hello Dean’.

“Glad you could join us, Cas!” Sam smiled and the angel tipped his head at him in acknowledgement.

Castiel accepted the offered beer, “There was nothing better to do and I was contemplating calling to see if there was anything I could help with.” He tilted his head and looked to Dean, “Are you on a hunt?”

“Yeah.”

Charlie was really enjoying this. Like, she was really, really enjoying this because Dean was clearly fighting the urge to look at Castiel. Fighting and failing so hard that his eyes were already sliding across the room until he was looking at the angel. Sam raised his eyebrows at Charlie in a _‘You see what I mean? This is the shit I have to deal with’_ look.

She rolled her lips under her teeth and tried very, very hard not to laugh. Laughing would interrupt the very in depth, very intense conversation Dean and Castiel were having about some kind of coven of witches using their witchy wiles to run banking scams of some sort (thus why Charlie and her epic technological prowess were needed because hacking banks was something Sam and his decidedly less-epic prowess could not do). And the whole conversation was going on _without breaking eye contact._

This right here was one of those precious moments in a fandom when you know what’s happening. When you can see it taking place before your very eyes. That magical, special moment. _The forming of an OTP._

She was grinning like a maniac and she knew it.

“So, can you do it or not?”

Charlie snapped to attention, “Sorry what?”

Dean frowned at her and his narrowed eyes were probably because he knew exactly what she’d been thinking, “Can you hack a bank?”

She scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she crossed the room to her computer, “Can Malcolm Reynolds rock a floral bonnet?”

Her statement was met with silence and she spun the chair around to look at them. Sam and Dean were both kind of shaking, obviously trying to keep from laughing but Castiel was regarding her with his eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

“I don’t understand that reference.”

Sam snorted and Dean full on chuckled, slinging an arm across the back of the couch (conveniently located right behind Castiel’s shoulders) and he kind of looked torn between wanting to explain it, wanting to dig out Charlie’s Firefly DVDs for a marathon so Castiel could just witness it, or just letting the moment slide. Castiel looked somewhat pleased that Dean was laughing.

Charlie really couldn’t help her own grin or the words that slipped out the moment Dean tilted his head back to take another sip from his bottle.

“Yeah, I ship it.”

This time, the coffee table was not spared the spray of beer.


	2. Plotting, Thy Name is Charlie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie drags Sam headfirst into plotting to make Destiel as canon as she possibly can - despite his protests because Sam _really_ doesn't want to talk about who his brother is sexing up, he just wants Dean and Cas to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just supposed to be a one shot. Then people asked for more and the plot-bunnies multiplied and now it's going to be four parts (or three - because I can't decide if I wanna make a smutty chapter at the end or not). So I blame you guys for this. I really really do.
> 
>  
> 
> **SEASON EIGHT SPOILERS**

Castiel spent the next thirty minutes pouting in the arm chair and chewing absently on a piece of pizza because Dean refused to explain what Charlie meant _(“But Dean what do boats have to do with anything we were just talking about?”)_. He had told her, on threat of bodily harm, that if she said another word on it he’d show her all the other shit he could do as a hunter. In the up close and personal kind of way.

Sam couldn’t stop laughing long enough to say anything when Cas had turned his confused eyes to him. When he was done, Sam ended up laying flat on the floor where he had slipped sometime during the ridiculous fit that no one seemed willing to try and pull him out of (Charlie got the feeling that the brothers didn’t laugh a whole lot – judging from Dean’s exasperated look that practically teemed with fondness). She had relocated to the floor with her laptop on the freshly cleaned coffee table.

“Oh God, could you imagine if Becky found out?” Sam wheezed and Dean looked terrified at the thought – so scared that Castiel actually sat forward in concern and Sam had to wave him down with the assurance that it was nothing to be worried about.

Charlie lifted her fingers from the keyboard and looked between the brothers, “Who’s Becky?”

“Sammy’s biggest fangirl.” Dean supplied quickly – obviously in retaliation – before Sam could say anything. He was stretched out on the couch (and Charlie hadn’t failed to notice that he was sitting at the perfect angle to be able to see Castiel) and looking entirely too pleased when Sam gave a full body shudder, “And his ex-wife.”

“Dean!” The look Sam sent him was positively _scandalized_ and Charlie jotted a quick reminder on a sticky-note to look up that particularly juicy bit of information because marriage records were actually really easy to find.

Castiel leaned forward, fixing Sam with a look that Charlie was seriously impressed with. He somehow managed to keep a perfectly straight face while coming across as both disappointed and hurt that this information had been kept from him, “You never said you were married!”

“I was _drugged_ with a _love potion!_ ” Sam slapped his hands over his face and rolled on his side away from Castiel, “It’s a time of my life we’re trying really hard to forget, okay?”

Charlie wisely kept her mouth shut. This was infinitely more entertaining than hacking into the bank accounts of some wall-street-witches who happened to be scarily good at making it look like witchcraft _wasn’t_ behind their ridiculously good luck with the stock market. Which seemed par for the course really. If witchcraft was an obvious thing, than wouldn’t more people be using it?

And hacking like this took talent and focus and Charlie was only human, how the hell was she supposed to pay attention to running her programs and code when so much beautiful _drama_ was unfolding right here in her very own living room? Hell, she should be recording this for the fandom and sharing this glorious bounty with everyone.

“Aw lighten up, Sammy. Cas is just disappointed he wasn’t invited to the wedding. Aren’t ya, Cas?” Dean teased.

Sam’s comeback cut Castiel off before he could agree, “A little hard to invite someone we thought was _dead_ , Dean.”

Even Charlie winced at that.

The bottom of Dean’s beer bottle hit the coffee table a little too hard for Charlie’s taste, but her glare died before she could even get it revved up. If this was anime, she’s pretty sure half of Dean’s face would be covered in shadow. Sam was staring through his fingers like he was scared if he moved his hands he was going to combust from the blank-but-seriously-scary expression Dean was sporting.

Charlie chanced a look at Castiel and found him with much the same look only it was disturbingly filled with guilt and now she knows there’s a whole back story to this conversation. A back story that she’s just itching to ask about, that she probably won’t find on the internet, and might actually get her shanked by Dean if she asked about it.

It almost seemed worth it. Almost.

She’s ashamed to admit that she kind of flinched when Dean suddenly got to his feet. Even Sam sat up a little warily, eyeing Dean like he expected a good swift stomp to the nuts. Castiel lifted his head slightly and Charlie melted a little inside because if that isn’t the most endearingly _adorable_ kicked-puppy look, she doesn’t know what is.

Dean grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on without looking at any of them, “I’m going to go get us more beer.”

“Dean –” Cas started quietly, half rising from the chair but the door was already slamming shut. He sat down slowly.

Sam sighed and Charlie kinda had to give the guy props. For being a million feet tall, he had a pretty good kicked-puppy look too.

“Sorry, Cas. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“I wasn’t aware he was still upset about it – or rather, was ever upset about it.” Castiel slouched in his seat, looking far more dejected than any angel of the lord should look (in Charlie’s fine opinion). He hesitated only a moment before adding, “I would have returned to the both of you immediately if I had been able to remember anything. You know that, right?”

“I do, and Dean probably does too. But you know him, he’s kind of…” Sam gestured vaguely and Charlie interpreted it as _‘emotionally-constipated-but-he’s-making-progress’._

And that, well that just set off all kinds of little ideas firing in her synapses. Charlie tented her fingertips in front of her lips, resting her elbows on the coffee table, and tried her best to keep her face in serious-mode, “You should go talk to him.”

Wow. Apparently even angels can pull off a pretty decent _‘are we even talking about the same thing here, keep with the frikken program’_ look. Although it was scarily similar to Sam’s, and if Charlie was even close to being right about the history between these three, then it’s really possible that Cas actually learned that look from Sam.

“What, he doesn’t talk?”

“He doesn’t do ‘chick-flick’ moments.” Castiel muttered, air-quotes and all.

She raised an eyebrow and frowned, “Are you sure? I mean, how accurate are the Supernatural books? Because seriously, you guys have more chick-flick moments in your lives than I do. They might not all be touchy-feely, Leia-to-Han ‘someone who loves you’ moments, but they _are_ pretty chick-flicky.”

Oh and if Castiel thought she missed that little twitch during her quote, he is sorely mistaken. She files away _that_ little bit for future reference. Charlie has more to say, she really does, but Castiel suddenly goes all stiff and weird like a statue and tilted his head as if he’s listening to something far away.

Sam noticed too and he gets much more serious, “Angel radio?”

Castiel didn’t answer right away. For several moments he sat there with a faraway look in his eyes and Charlie was getting seriously uncomfortable because the angel was barely breathing and holy crap did her little attempt at match-making just kill him? Is that what it took to kill an angel? That would just be really stupid.

“I need to go.” Castiel was on his feet faster than Charlie could register and she blinked in surprise because he suddenly wasn’t there anymore. The clinking of dishes in the kitchen had her whipping around to see Castiel putting his dish and empty beer bottle in the sink and he looked over his shoulder to her and Sam – who was leaning dangerously far over to see around the doorframe. “If Dean returns before I do, please let him know I’ll be back shortly.”

And then there was the beating of wings and the papers on her fridge fluttered against their magnets. This time, Castiel was actually gone. Charlie turned back to her screen slowly, frowning lightly at the running program and the flickering numbers. She looked to Sam and he seemed much more accepting of Castiel’s vanishing act, so she assumed it must happen a lot.

Rather than ask about it, Charlie decided to take the bull by the horns and address the oliphaunt in the room. “They’re so into eachother it hurts to look at with all that UST.”

Sam paused in his ungainly climb back onto the couch, “UST?”

“Unresolved Sexual Tension.”

He made a face and stretched out, his long legs taking up the whole couch despite how he was still sitting upright, “Yeah, I don’t want that image in my head, thanks.”

“But you agree, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that I didn’t.” Sam pointedly did not look at Charlie or the ridiculous grin she knew was painted all over her face, “But yeah, it’s kind of getting intolerable. You should have seen them when Cas came back from Purgatory – which was a few months after Dean did –”

“Wait, wait.” Charlie shuffled onto her knees, planting her hands on the coffee table and leaning over it, “Are you saying they were in Purgatory _together_ for a whole _year?_ ”

Sam was again making with the whole ‘no eye contact’ thing and Charlie was half tempted to plant herself in his lap and force him to look at her during this conversation, “Yeah, they were. I don’t… actually know what happened there. Just that it was rough for the both of them and neither really likes to talk about it. And Benny didn’t offer to share anything either.”

There was silence for a tick and then Sam visibly winced. Charlie was practically kneeling on the table now because that right there was a ridiculously delicious piece of information that Sam really probably shouldn’t have mentioned and if Dean was here Charlie was ninety-five percent sure one or both of them would be bleeding.

She couldn’t keep the sing-song out of her voice even if she wanted to, “Who’s Beeeeeenny?”

Sam pursed his lips and turned his eyes up to the ceiling, “No one.”

“Another angel?”

He snorted, “Hell no.”

“A demon? Leviathan? Shape-shifter? Skin-walker? Werewolf? Vampi – ah-hah!” She pointed dramatically because Sam’s lips had thinned out even more at that last one, “So he’s a vampire!” Which really didn’t make sense because, “Aren’t you guys hunters? Don’t you _kill_ vampires?”

Sam rearranged himself and his face slipped into a mask of impassiveness that Charlie was so not going to just let go. She crawled across the table, lifted his legs – which she suspected were going to be heavy but holy crap she almost needed _wingardium leviosa_ to move them – and settled onto the couch cushions. Sam let her drape his legs across her lap but his expression didn’t shift.

“Out with it, Rapunzel.”

Well that got a reaction. And suddenly Charlie understood what the fandom meant when they said _‘bitchface’_. It was very well suited to that flat, disapproving, _‘I can’t believe you just said/did that’_ look directed her way. Charlie raised an eyebrow and wiggled her fingers at him, “Out with it or I start on the tickling.”

And now Sam just looked amused. Of course, that probably had something to do with how she was a Hobbit compared to his Ent and she could probably hang from his arm like it was a tree branch. Charlie frowned and poked him hard in the knee, “I can’t help with getting them from UST to RST without the whole story so spill it!”

“Don’t you think I’ve kinda _tried_ to get those two to realize it?” He shot back, crossing his arms defensively over his chest, “There’s only so many different ways I can say ‘Hey I’ve got research to do, I’ll leave the two of you here in this motel room _alone_ for the next few hours so have fun, bye!’ And every time I come back and they’re just watching TV or Cas is reading a book and Dean’s taking a nap or something and I would _know_ if they did anything because I’ve basically been around Dean our entire lives and trust me, I’ve seen the after-effect often enough to know what both he and the room look like and it’s just _not happening._ ”

Sam ended on an exasperated huff and titled his head back against the raised edge of the couch-back. Charlie waited. He hadn’t relaxed any so she was betting all her chocobos that he wasn’t quite finished yet.

“I’m pretty sure they both know the attraction is mutual, and I’m pretty sure they’re both head-over-heels for the other – I can’t even count the number of times Cas has sacrificed himself for Dean, for us – and Dean was just so… he’s more _normal_ now that Cas is back. He was kind of… scary, and not _Dean_ when he first showed up. And he was keeping secrets from me.”

“Secrets like this Benny guy?”

“You’re… very astute.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“It’s a handy trait to have when you’re as fantastic as I am.” Charlie flapped her hand at him to dismiss the comment, “Continue.”

Sam pouted because apparently it wasn’t fair that being a pale-skinned Na’vi didn’t excuse you from having to talk about uncomfortable things. She stared at him, eyes wide and expecting and one eyebrow quirked _just so._ Charlie even threw in a little pout, because that worked wonders on guys. Guys like Sam, apparently, because he caved in seconds and explained the whole hullabaloo behind this Benny character.

Charlie chewed her lip in thought, drumming her fingers on Sam’s calf after he was done. Man, it was so lucky that the author – Chuck, apparently – wasn’t publishing anymore. She could just see the shipping wars between the… the… Oh man, she had to name the ships!

“Well?” Sam nudged her with his heel, “What do you think?”

“Shh!” She held up a finger, “I’m naming the ships, give me a second.”

He frowned, “… You’re _what?_ ”

“Naming. The. Ships. Get the hair outta your ears. The fandom calls Sam slash Dean ‘Wincest’ and if I’m going to keep all this straight in my head, I’ve gotta give Dean slash Castiel and Dean slash Benny their own ship names.” Charlie flapped her hand at him again before stilling, “Oh! Perfect! Destiel and Denny!”

Sam was making another bitchface and this one was possibly even stronger than the last. Charlie didn’t look. If she did, she might burst into flames or disintegrate on impact or something equally horrific. But she kind of wished she could take a picture of it, just for the fandom’s sake. Not that the fandom knew that the Supernatural characters were actually real people, but _still._

“Fine, fine, sorry.” She twisted around to get comfortable, “Okay. So from everything you’ve told me, Destiel is ridiculously canon and the fangirls would implode if they ever found out. But it’s canon in the theoretical sense that it’s _there_ it’s just not being acted upon because Subject A and Subject B are possibly too thick to know it’s there or are both playing a sexual charged game of chicken to see who caves first. That sound about right?”

“Do we have to talk about Dean – who I’d like to remind you is _my brother_ that I have seen in sexual situations one time too many – having sex with Cas – who happens to be an _angel of the lord?_ ”

“Yes, yes we do.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Charlie affixed her own version of the bitchface in place and took a perverse amount of pleasure in making Sam flinch. She held up her hand, raising one finger with each point she made, “For one, it’s ridiculously hot. I can’t even begin to explain how hot it is. Two, they like eachother and are obviously into eachother and that much UST is going to result in pain whether physical or emotional and nobody wants that. Three, everyone deserves a little fun, even angels of the lord-”

“I feel that at some point I should mention that Cas was a millennia old virgin last I heard – and still is, to my knowledge - and you really need to stop looking at me like that because it’s really starting to freak me out.”

Charlie wasn’t sure exactly how she was looking at him, but it must have been something terrifying (maybe something shark-like? She could usually pull off a pretty decent shark look) because Sam actually did seem kind of scared about it and he was withdrawing into the corner of the couch with his knees to his chest. She reeled herself in with several deep, calming breaths.

“Any other points I had to make are moot now because Cas is a _virgin and needs to get laid by Dean as soon as physically possible_. They’re obviously already in love and all we need is for them to jump that sexual hurdle and tattoo their names on eachother’s asses or something. And you, Sam Winchester, are going to help me make it happen.”

“Do I have to?”

Charlie reached out with her foot and closed her laptop with a flick of her ankle, “If you want me to finish hacking that bank and getting the names and locations of all those witches for you guys, then yes, yes you do. And I don’t think your ‘blood hound’ can find them for you – otherwise you wouldn’t have come to me in the first place.”

Sam shot her a rather nasty look and wrapped his arms around his legs, “Fine, whatever. What do you suggest?”

“Short of stripping them and locking ‘em in a room together? Nothing.”

His nose scrunched at her words and Charlie thought it was kind of adorable and again contemplated the pros and cons of digging out her cell phone and filling it full of photos for the fandom. She wouldn’t necessarily have to tell the fandom that Sam and Dean were real people. She could call them really freaking good LARPers or cosplayers. Hell, they could probably be the spokespersons for the book and if they agreed to do a few conventions, they could probably rake in a decent amount of cash.

Her tangent of plan making went south (and not in the good way – it simply derailed) when Sam shook his head, “Unless that room is surrounded by a ring of holy fire, Cas could just bamf out the moment you shut the door.”

“Of course that’s only if he can resist the sight of a butt-naked Dean Winchester.”

“Again, stop putting images in my head. It hurts my brain.”

“Suck it up, padawan. You’ve got a lot to learn about the ins and outs of match-making.”

“I don’t particularly _want_ to learn the ins and outs. I just want them to stop with the eye-fucking while I’m in the room.” Sam shuddered and rested his forehead on his knees, “And you don’t even understand how close they stand together. Castiel’s always been bad with the personal space and Dean used to complain about it every chance he got. But now? Now they’re attached at the hip and I always think they’re one breath away from inhabiting the same pair of pants.”

“That was some pretty decent eye-sex going on there, wasn’t it?” Charlie donned her Sherlock-thinking-pose and stretched her legs out on the table, “This whole thing is just a matter of taking the eyes out and leaving them with just, y’know, sex.”

Sam made a little strangled noise, “Seriously, please, I’m begging you. Stop talking about them having sex. It’s all well and good that we’re trying to hook them up – but I don’t just want them to start going at it like bunnies. I want them to be…” He flapped his hand and his face scrunched again.

“Happy?” Charlie supplied.

“Yeah. I want them to be happy. They both deserve it, like, a lot. You haven’t even scraped the tip of the iceberg with how shitty their lives – our lives – have been since the Leviathans, hell even long _before_ that.” He shrugged again, chin resting on his knees, “When Dean and Cas disappeared, I really didn’t know where they went. I didn’t have the first clue where to look or what had happened. I didn’t even know if they were alive. I was alone and drifting and I found someone and I… I was happy. I was really happy. And when we’re done with this case, I want to retire and go back to being that happy, if I still can.”

Charlie watched as his eyes went unfocused and she knew he was reminiscing. She melted a little at the small smile that tugged at his lips because yeah, she could totally understand what he was getting at. It’s what she wanted, kind of. Not that she had anything to complain about because she was really very content with her life. But that was it. She was _content_. Charlie could live out her life like this for a good long time, but she probably wouldn’t be happy. At least, not the kind of happy that Sam was getting at.

“I just want Dean to have somebody too. So he can understand that it’s not just him and me anymore.” Sam picked at the hem of his jeans and his voice kind of took on the sulking quality of a teenager, “I want him and Cas to be happy together so that they’ll have each other when I’m not around. Around as much. I’ll still be in touch, but… I’ve got my own life I want to live too.”

She nodded, reaching out to pat him on the arm, “I know. I read all about it and for what it’s worth, I agree wholeheartedly.”

“So you agree not to talk about getting Cas and Dean in bed together anymore?”

Charlie over exaggerated the roll of her eyes a wee bit and made a grand show of her defeated sigh, “Yes, fine. No more talking about them breeding like tribbles.”

“Oh Jesus Christ, _don’t even joke about that!_ ” Sam slapped his hands over his ears, “As if thinking about them having sex wasn’t bad enough you had to go and put it into my head that one of them could get _pregnant!_ You’re – you’re – that’s just – that’s _horrible._ ”

“Well how much do you _actually_ know about angel biology?” She grinned, because now it was just getting way too much fun to tease him. Seriously, the Winchesters were like the big brothers she never knew she wanted.

Sam went still in the kind of way one does when they’ve come to a realization that scares them so bad they don’t even breathe for nearly a solid minute. His eyes went wide and Charlie almost felt bad because he really truly did look frikken _horrified._

“Let’s just add that to the list of things we don’t talk or ask about. How’s that sound?” She offered.

He nodded slowly and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, “Oh God, I need some brain bleach and I need it right now. Just – never mention that again, okay? Never. Again.”

Charlie sighed, pretending to be put upon by his request until Sam fixed her with a glare. She held up three fingers in the universal sign for the girl-guides, “I do solemnly swear to never again bring up the topic that angel biology could quite possibly result in either Dean or Castiel getting pregnant. Girl Guides’ honour.”

Sam made a small choking noise and scrubbed at his face with his hands, “You suck. You suck so bad.”

"If you would stop making it so _easy_ , I would stop taking advantage of the gaping openings you keep leaving me.” She stuck her tongue out at him and folded her hands over her stomach, “Now. No talking for the next five minutes. I want you to think up all the possible ways we can get Dean and Cas to admit their attraction to eachother.”

“Are you for serious? We’re going to brainstorm?”

“Hey, we don’t have to.” She raised an eyebrow at him, “You could just live with perpetual UST, eye-fucking, and the knowledge that your brother might never be _truly happy_ the way you’ve always wanted him to be for _the rest of your natural existence._ ”

A little huffing noise was her response and he dropped his head back to his knees, “Five minutes.”

“Five minutes.” She confirmed, glancing at the digital clock on her desk and starting the countdown.


	3. Plan A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie would throttle Sam if she could. But there's an Angel of the Lord sitting in front of her and he just _might_ frown upon that. As queen of her high school improv group, Charlie throws those skills to good use and decides to take a page out of Team Free Will's handbook (she'll make it up as she goes along and keep her fingers crossed that Dean or Cas doesn't mess this up).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter.
> 
> But then the plot bunnies got promiscuous and now I honestly don't know how many chapters there will be. I'm having too much fun with this story to really care at this point. These pages are basically writing themselves now.

“Time’s up.”

To Charlie’s surprise, Sam was the first to notice the time. She pinched her lips together, realizing they’d been thinking for over ten minutes now and Dean could end up coming back before they even get a chance to discuss their ideas and come up with the perfect plan. Sam looked uncomfortable and that didn’t bode well. Out of the two of them, he knew Cas and Dean better than Charlie and if _he_ couldn’t think up any good ways to get them to realize things, then Charlie had about as much luck as a good show on Fox Network did at not being cancelled (which is to say, none at all). 

She snagged her laptop from the table and booted it back up again, opening a text document, “Okay. Out with what you’ve got.”

Sam chewed on his lip and his nose scrunched up and his brow beetled and he just kept staring at Charlie. She looked back at him with a skeptical eyebrow raised, “You _do_ have something, don’t you?”

“Sorta? But it… It hasn’t worked so well in the past.”

“What hasn’t?”

“Sitting Dean down and explaining feelings to him.”

Charlie leveled him with the best deadpan she could muster, “Really? That’s your plan?”

“Well another option is sitting _Cas_ down and explaining feelings to him.” Sam shrugged, “But that might be just as useless because I really have no idea how firm a grasp Castiel has on human emotions. For all I know, he could be as emotionally constipated as Dean is.”

She rolled her eyes and blew a heavy breath out her nose, “So basically you’re saying one of your plans is useless and the other requires more data for us to be able to determine whether or not it would be even remotely useful?”

Sam’s response was nothing more than a groan and pressing his forehead to his knees again. 

Charlie shut her laptop because there really was no use in typing up a list of their options now that their options were narrowed to the few ideas she had. Ideas that – and she so was not going to tell Sam this – she’s borrowed off of fanfictions. No, telling him that would probably be a very bad thing. 

“Ready to hear my plans?”

“As long as you mention nothing about being naked and sex.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Girl guide’s honour.”

“That was only about the pregnant thing!”

“Don’t _mention_ it again!”

“You’re the one who brought it up again!”

“No, I didn’t, I said nothing about it!”

“The girl guides thing was associated directly to it!”

“Have I interrupted something?”

It’s really amusing that Sam’s shriek of surprise is roughly the same pitch as Charlie’s. They both look to the kitchen doorway where Castiel has materialized like he just threw off the invisibility cloak and Charlie really hopes he hasn’t just been standing there the whole time. 

She blames that thought for the words that come out of her mouth next, “Can angels go invisible?”

Sam looked at her with wide eyes and a soft hiss of her name, like the thought occurred to him too but he didn’t want to bring it up.

Castiel’s eyebrows end up pinched in a kind of confused-frowny face that is way too adorable for his own good (and Charlie thinks if he and Dean ever do hook up then Dean is _fucked_ \- in both the good and bad way). He looked to Sam and back to Charlie before responding slowly, “Yes… But it’s more like standing in a level of reality slightly off from this one than it is, as you call it, being invisible. Being invisible would suggest I have a presence on this plane of reality that could be noticed.”

“Oh. Well, that’s cool. Did you have fun wherever you bamfed off to?”

He rolled his eyes (the gesture a little too stiff) and dropped onto the chair again, “No. I was called back to Heaven to provide my ‘opinion’-” Again with the air quotes, “- on handling a situation regarding a demonic uprising in Czechoslovakia that happened quite a few decades in your past.”

“That sounds… interesting.” Sam unfolded, putting his feet on the floor and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “Is it anything you want Dean and I to go take a look at? I know Dean hates you blipping us places, but he’ll understand if you explain the situation.”

Castiel shook his head, “No, it’s fine. I just had to persuade them that smiting a town off the face of the Earth _in the past_ is not a viable option. It could alter history. The town will be fine… now.”

“That’s good to hear.” Charlie really hoped he was kidding about angels even considering that to be an option. But judging by Sam’s accepting expression, she might be entirely wrong about that.

“Dean isn’t back yet.” Castiel stated, rather than asking and he frowned.

“Nope. Which actually, is a good thing.” Charlie got up and relocated her butt to the edge of the coffee table so she was sitting directly in front of the both of them.

Both Sam and Castiel looked at her with wide eyes but for _entirely_ different reasons. Sam was horrified, probably thinking she was going to try his ridiculous plan of talking some sense into the angel. Castiel just looked surprised, and then he looked confused, as if it was completely unheard of that Dean not being in the same place as the rest of them could possibly be a good thing.

Amateurs.

“I wanted to check with you two about something about Dean.” She twirled her fingers in her hair and adopted the most nervous and insecure expression she had in her arsenal, “Do you think he’d be… Well, do either of you think that…” She took a deep breath and blurted out the actual question in a quick rush (trying hard to not laugh through it), “DoyouthinkIhaveachancewithDean?”

Sam’s jaw dropped with an audible pop that didn’t sound very comfortable. His voice was three octaves too high for his following, “ _What?!_ ”

Operation: Make One Of Them Jealous was a go. 

Pretending to be attracted to men was just a sacrifice she was going to have to make. Charlie was ready to throw herself on this grenade because Sam probably wouldn’t feel so very comfortable hitting on Cas (which was the other option for this plan). Though that would have been a far more hilarious path to take (and Charlie had quite a few good rebuttals for why he should be doing this instead of her). But then Cas had to end up coming back earlier than expected and now she was on a time crunch to get this done before Dean ended up returning prematurely too. 

Castiel was blinking. It was an exceptional amount of blinking, like he was surprised by the question and not sure how to react so all he could do was _blink_. He opened his mouth and his throat worked a few times before he finally, after several moments of silence, managed (in a completely level voice that Charlie was rather impressed by), “You’re… interested… in Dean?”

“Well, _yeah_!” Charlie had to think of the most embarrassing moment in her life (getting her first period in the middle of the aerobics block in grade 7 gym class) to bring up the blush required for this particular role, “I mean, who wouldn’t be? Have you seen the ass on that man?” 

Lying to an angel felt like she was performing at least fifteen different kinds of blasphemies and she really hoped this wasn’t going to get her ass sent to hell and holy shit what if angels could read _minds?_ But the look on Castiel’s face was telling her a few things. First and foremost was that no, he most certainly was not reading her mind. Secondly, he apparently had zero idea of how to react because he was just staring straight ahead. Third, he had actually stopped _breathing_.

“Um, Cas?” She waved her hand and snapped her fingers a few times to get his attention, “You still with us, buddy?”

He nodded woodenly, “You’re attracted to Dean.”

“Is that a problem?” She frowned, trying to look offended.

“No.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you’re kinda acting a little weird. I don’t want to step on any toes here – but he _has_ played a leading role in some rather… erm… nice… dreams I’ve had since I met you guys.” The hardest part about this was not choking with laughter over her words. Yeah sure, Dean was attractive. But he was not even near her type even if you took into account the part about him sporting the wrong equipment. 

Sam seemed to be having a little difficultly of his own with this whole charade. He had a fist pressed to his mouth and he kept looking between Charlie and Castiel like he didn’t know who was more amusing to watch. Then this little light flicked on behind his eyes and Charlie knew he was having some kind of lightning-strike idea. She hoped he knew how to improvise because seriously, if he messed this up she was going to get her lightsaber out and bust it on his butt.

“But Charlie…” Sam started quietly, choking on the words a little as his lips twitched in a valiant attempt to not grin, “I thought you were… not into _guys_. Didn’t you say they weren’t your type?”

She bit her lip and leveled him with a glare because he just had to go and throw _that_ wrench into the plan, didn’t he? Castiel's head snapped to the side so fast Charlie half expected it to come right off his shoulders and he was looking at Sam with wide eyes, which ended up narrowing dangerously when they turned toward her. She shifted uncomfortably, the hard wood edge of the table digging into her thighs. Was it because she liked girls? Oh shit, wasn’t there something in the bible about that being a sin? Was he gonna smite her for liking boobs? Or was he looking like that because he was catching on to the lie?

Thinking like that could lead to the very ruin of this plan. No, she could still salvage this. The plan could still work! Think like Hermione. Think like Hermione. Think like… YES.

“I think he might be my exception.” She whispered, lowering her eyes and looking between the two through her lashes. Charlie was trying very, very hard to be coy. It was a look she didn’t use often, if ever and she prayed to the four houses of Hogwarts that she was pulling it off right, “Sometimes when it just feels _right_ , it doesn’t matter if they’re a different gender than you’re usually attracted to. As long as the feelings are real, the body doesn’t matter. Right?”

Castiel had that whole epiphany look going on and Charlie’s arm twitched in an aborted fist pump. She glanced to Sam and he was grinning like he’d just beat the Kobayashi Maru without cheating. He was even so brash as to _wink_ and she widened her eyes at him in warning, quirking an eyebrow toward the angel because if he gave off anymore hints she really was going to kick his ass.

And suddenly Castiel’s face was _right freaking there_. Charlie nearly fell off the table jerking away in surprise. His eyes were wide and hopeful and yes, she really needed to get his picture and send it to Webster’s Dictionary for the definition of ‘puppy-eyes’ because there would never be a better example than this.

“Does this apply to everyone?” Castiel asked, voice pitched low in a whisper that had both Charlie and Sam leaning forward to hear. 

“Does what?” Sam asked because Charlie sure didn’t know what he was asking.

“This ‘exception’. Does everyone have an exception to their close-minded ideas of gender roles and what is considered the right gender to be attracted to?”

Sam rubbed a hand through his hair and sat back heavily against the couch, “I dunno, maybe? Not everyone finds that someone. I mean, I like girls and I wouldn’t say ‘yes’ to just any attractive guy trying to pick me up in the bar. But if that guy was… say… Robert Downey Jr. Well, I wouldn’t exactly say _‘no’_ to him.”

“I don’t know who that is.” Castiel frowned at him and Sam blushed, flapping his hands and muttering about how it didn’t matter.

“Are you asking because you’re interested in someone?” Charlie blurted the question because that’s apparently what her current character does in nervous situations, not that she was actually nervous or anything. 

But she had a role to play and she was going to play it well, dammit. 

Sam’s jaw did that popping-drop thing again because Castiel actually, honest to God, _blushed_. He sat back quickly and adverted his eyes, “No.”

“You’re lying.” Charlie pointed at him and then looked at Sam, “Is that allowed? Are angels allowed to lie?”

He worked his mouth a few times before answering, “In our experience? … Yes.” He sent an apologetic look to Castiel and the angel’s shoulder twitched in a shrug like he didn’t quite know how to properly execute one, but he sure as hell was going to give it a try.

“He’s still lying. Who do you have the hots for?” She poked Castiel in the knee and he looked at her finger before raising his eyes to her face, “Since we’re talking about the whole gender-thing, I’m guessing it’s a dude. Is there a Mr. Angel-of-the-Lord you’ve got your eyes on? Someone with nice plumage, perhaps?”

That just made Castiel look confused and Charlie’s gut sank because this was starting to get not only a little bit annoying, but a whole lot more frustrating.

“Our wings are metaphysical manifestations of our grace. We don’t actually have feathers. If I was to show you my real wings, your eyes would burn.”

“Don’t hedge the answer, shiny-butt.” She poked his knee again, “Have you got a man-crush?”

“I don’t know what a ‘man-crush’ is and I don’t have a 'shiny butt'. My true form may be a wavelength of celestial light and intent but in this vessel I am –”

“Hedging!” Charlie cut him off and threw her hands in the air before crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the angel, “Ignore the semantics and answer the question. Do you or do you not have an attraction to –”

“Yes.”

“- Dean Winchester?”

Silence.

Dead silence.

Edge of the black, kind of silence.

Charlie’s mouth was left hanging open because she actually hadn’t meant to bring Dean’s name into this at all. She had been hoping against hope that Castiel would be the one to say it first. Sam was staring at her with bald-faced horror, like she’d just pushed Dumbledore off the tower while simultaneously kicking Gandalf off the bridge. 

Castiel on the other hand was swinging between two very different extremes. First pretty much every drop of blood drained from his face (the last time she saw someone that pale was when she was seven years old and looking at her great uncle Stu laying in his coffin at his funeral). And then he blushed so hard she was mildly worried his cheeks were going to bruise. That was followed by the most terrified, wide-eyed look Charlie had ever seen.

Sam shot forward, nearly knocking Charlie off the table in the process, and grabbed Castiel’s arm, “Don’t zap out!”

The angel was fish-mouthing and he kept fisting his hands in his trench coat and Charlie really just wanted to wrap him up in a hug and shush him and tell him it was going to be alright. Damn her maternal instincts. They’d never shown themselves before, why start now with an _angel_ of all things?

She reached out and covered Castiel’s hands with hers, “Take a few deep breaths. You’re not in trouble and we’re not going to tell Dean if you don’t want him to know.” And she finishes with a mental, _‘Of course that’s if he doesn’t already know, what with you two being so painfully obvious that even Mr. Magoo would be able to see it.’_

Castiel swallowed audibly. His jaw snapped shut and he slumped forward until he was almost bent in half with his face pressed to Charlie’s forearms while doing the whole deep-breathing thing she’d told him to do. She shared a quick, surprised _‘What the hell do I do?!’_ look with Sam. They both nearly jumped out of their skin when Castiel made a weird strangled noise in the back of his throat.

His voice was really small and quiet when he finally spoke and Charlie could practically feel her heart breaking over it, “I’m sorry but _please_ don’t tell Dean of your interest.”

She winced and then double winced because Sam’s glare was pretty damn scalding. It’s not like this was what she was hoping when she abruptly dove head first into ‘Plan A’. There had been a time crunch and some mental flailing and grabbing at straws. At no point was Charlie ever thinking of hurting Dean or Castiel. She was just trying to make Cas _jealous_ , not make him sound like a she’d just kicked his sandcastle.

So she said the only thing she could think of (again not the best choice, in hindsight), “I’m not interested in Dean.”

Castiel went still and sat back very slowly, “You’re not?”

“I’m not.” She confirmed, nodding her head and then spilling her guts (figuratively speaking – her swords were kept in the bedroom and she really didn’t feel like performing seppuku in the middle of her living room today). 

Frankly, neither Charlie or Sam were prepared for the ridiculously displeased glare they received. They both adverted their eyes, lowered their heads in shame, and basically bared their bellies for the tongue-lashing sure to follow. 

It never came.

There was just more of that really unnerving silence. 

Charlie chanced a glance to Sam and he was looking at her through a curtain of hair and it was by an unspoken agreement that they both lifted their heads to look to Cas. He was staring at a point over Charlie’s shoulder (and she checked, just in case Dean was back – he wasn’t), and his hands were resting on the armrests. His face was, unhelpfully, back in his epic angel look of stoic blankness. 

“Um –” Charlie started. 

Castiel flicked his eyes to her and anything she was going to say threw itself off St. Bart's because there was no way the angel actually just said what she thought she had heard. Sam’s goggle-eyed look of disbelief didn’t really help her decide if she was hallucinating (she’s pretty sure she wasn’t eating or drinking anything to do with cacti today) or not. 

Charlie blinked and pretended to dig her finger in her ear, “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“I asked; what other plans do you have?”


	4. Plan B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Castiel in on the scheming now, things aren't actually looking as up as Charlie was hoping they would. If he would just _pick_ one of their plans, he and Dean would probably be getting on with the happy make-outs by now. Charlie makes the decision for everyone and Sam feels more uncomfortable than he likely thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DEFINITE SEASON EIGHT SPOILERS**
> 
> I'm thinking this is likely the 2nd to last chapter. The next will wrap the story up and... well. I'm _thinking_ about a smutty little chapter afterward. I'm not sure. What do you guys think? Is that something you'd want?

Charlie was not happy. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She was _exceptionally_ pleased that not only did Castiel willingly admit that he _liked_ Dean, but he was also totally gung-ho with plan _‘Hook These Bitches Up’_. What was leaving her a sour-wolf was that he was _shooting down_ every single one of the various ways to go about bringing that plan into action.   
  
Granted, all of her plans were more or less taken directly from fanfiction so she couldn’t claim they were completely _stellar_. Not to mention that those fanfiction were mostly Wincest. And she was perfectly prepared to admit that succubus venom and fuck-or-die curses were probably not the best things to have started her list with (if Castiel’s _‘I will smite you where you stand’_ reaction had been any sort of an answer). But finding out that Castiel was pretty much impervious to all forms of alcohol and that Dean’s tolerance was bordering angelic had basically cut her list of plans in half.  
  
“You sure you can’t just talk to him?” She asked, for what felt like the millionth time (though it was only the third – she’d been counting).   
  
She was spread out on the couch now, feet resting across Sam’s lap while she stared at the ceiling, hugging a pillow to her chest. Castiel hadn’t moved from the chair and Sam was slouched in his corner of the couch, long legs stretched over the coffee table.   
  
“I mean, really, all of this could be over and done with so much sooner if you would just say ‘Hello Dean. I love you. Let’s have the butt-sex.’”  
  
Charlie was rewarded with a sharp pinch on the ankle from Sam and a snort of derision from Castiel as they responded at basically the exact same moment (which Charlie thought only ever happened on TV and in the movies).  
  
“I told you to stop talking about that!”   
  
“I don’t just want his _body_.”  
  
She giggled. Really. She couldn’t help it. Her giggle subsided into a sigh and she rubbed her fingertips into her temples, “I think we’ve missed some steps here. Cas, what do you really want from Dean?”  
  
Her question was met with silence and Charlie tilted her head around the pillow to look at the angel. He was looking down at his hands in his lap, fingers fiddling with the edge of his trench coat.   
  
“I want Dean.”  
  
“ _How_ do you want Dean? Mind? Body? Soul?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Sam rested his cheek against his fist, elbow on the arm rest, “I think what Charlie’s asking is if you want Dean in a romantic relationship kind of way?”  
  
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.” Charlie blindly gave him two thumbs up, “Like, if Dean were to get back into a relationship with his last major love interest, would you be upset about it? How do you feel when you think about someone else touching or kissing him? Or if he was to tell someone else that he loves them?”  
  
More silence.   
  
Charlie lifted the pillow so she could see Castiel’s expression. She kinda wished she hadn’t. Castiel looked about ready to bring down the wrath of Heaven down on her coffee table for having the unfortunate luck of being directly in his line of sight.  
  
“I’m actually scared for anyone who tries to get between you and Dean now or ever.” Charlie chuckled. The situation was starting to get ridiculous. Her giggle morphed into a groan and she pulled the pillow over her face, “Well what if we made _Dean_ jealous? Sam. Hit on Cas in front of Dean.”  
  
“I’m not going to _hit on Cas_.” He pinched her foot again and Charlie dug her heel into the meat of his thigh in retaliation, “That’s like five kinds of wrong right there and Dean will know it’s bullshit before I even open my mouth.”  
  
“What about if we go to a bar and someone hits on Cas in front of Dean?” She mumbled from under the pillow, “Hell, I’ll throw myself on this grenade _again_ and do it for you guys. We won’t even have to leave the house.”  
  
Castiel made a small scoffing noise and tilted his head back against the chair to look at the ceiling, “Dean took me to a brothel once in an attempt to rid me of my virginity before I was supposedly going to die. I don’t particularly think he’ll react much, if at all, should a woman make her attraction to me known in his presence.”  
  
“How long ago was that?”  
  
There was silence for a moment as Castiel thought it over, “Somewhere between five and six years?”  
  
Charlie choked and jerked the pillow away to glare at him, “You don’t think that _maybe_ , in that time, he’s _changed his goddamn mind_?”  
  
Castiel frowned at her, “He’s shown no indication of –”  
  
“No, screw this. Hush your mouth shiny-butt.” She struggled up into a sitting position, narrowly missing Sam’s crotch with her heel, “I _refuse_ to believe that Dean Winchester will sit back nice and pretty while the dude he’s in love gets seduced right in front of him.”  
  
Now Castiel sounded skeptical and that really wasn’t going to help matters at all in the long run, “What evidence do you have that Dean is in love with me?”  
  
Charlie pressed her lips into a thin line and she could practically feel the air souring around them, “Are you blind? I mean, really. Seriously. Are you _blind_?” She gestured at Sam, “Explain to Spock. I have to pee.”  
  
When she returned from her impromptu bathroom visit, Charlie found Castiel and Sam sitting forward in their respective seats and engaged in an epic staring contest that could give the earlier uncomfortably-long-eye-contact between Dean and Cas a run for its money. Neither of them noticed when she took her seat back on the couch and it was another few minutes before anything happened.   
  
Sam jerked back with a quiet gasp and then he was rubbing at his eyes, “Holy shit that was weird.”  
  
Castiel sat back and stared at the opposite wall, one corner of his mouth lifted in what could possibly be the very hint of a smile. He didn’t say anything.  
  
“I just wanna point out that the ‘make Dean jealous’ thing works better if he’s in the room to see you being all doe-eyed with Cas.” Charlie muttered, announcing her presence when an explanation wasn’t given outright.   
  
“I wasn’t – No. He was checking my memories and stuff. It was the quickest way.” Sam grumbled, shooting a glare at Charlie.  
  
“Oh good.” She smiled back at him with all the faux sweet she could before turning her attention back to Castiel, “So, do you accept Dean’s got the hots for you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good. And I’d just like to point out that all of that that you just saw in Sam’s head? All of that is just from _here_ that _he’s_ witnessed. Neither of us knows about what Dean’s like when it’s just you and him, or what went down in Purgatory and I would bet my first edition D &D handbooks that there’s a whole bunch more evidence there.” Charlie grinned, entirely too pleased with the proceedings as Castiel looked more and more accepting of the facts.  
  
He looked at her and Sam with wide eyes, “He was given a means to leave Purgatory and didn’t use it. He fought through a world of monsters to find me and even with the threat of Leviathan, he refused to leave me and insisted that we would return together.” His voice went softer, quieter, and he looked down at his hands again, “He said he needed me.”  
  
Sam lifted his head from his fist, “Holy shit. That’s the closest you're probably gonna get to Dean outright saying he loves you.” Castiel actually smiled at that.  
  
“Yeah, that’s… That’s wow.” Charlie figured she looked like an idiot sitting there with her jaw hanging open, “Wait. Why weren’t you together? Why did he have to find you?”  
  
His smile dropped and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “I… left him.”  
  
Sam’s hand clenched where it rested over Charlie’s knee and his face tightened, “You _ditched_ Dean in _Purgatory_?” He sounded about as outraged as Charlie felt, but probably more so since Dean was his brother and all that. But she kept her reaction close to her chest, because there had to be more to it than that.  
  
“I had to. Leviathan were after me.” Castiel lifted his eyes, looking at them steadily, “Even after I told him that it was more dangerous to travel with me than without, he still wouldn’t leave me behind.”  
  
Charlie actually grinned. Sam’s hair flopped almost comically when he whipped his head around to glare at her because apparently this wasn’t the right time to be smiling like a lunatic. She smacked him with the pillow because brotherly love was blinding him to their cause.   
  
“This is perfect! This is wonderful! If you take out the fact that you were being hunted by terrifying monsters, your time in Purgatory was basically a _fanfic_.” She thrust her arm out at Sam, “Look! I have goosebumps!”  
  
Sam leveled her with a bitchface and Charlie actually shoved the pillow in his face. She completely ignored his displeased swearing as she wiggled until she was sitting on her knees, “This is so _shiny_ I can barely contain myself! So now we know – for a _fact_ – that Dean loves you. He basically came out and said it. We know you love him. We know you want him. Now _what_ do you plan to do about it?”  
  
Castiel’s shoulders dropped slightly and he frowned, “I don’t know.”  
  
Charlie groaned and fisted her fingers in her hair, hanging her head, “Are we still not even slightly considering the option of _talking_ with him? I mean, in the books Sam and Dean do eventually get around to talking about stuff. After it’s blown up in their faces or something, but they do _talk_.”  
  
“The books ended after Dean went to Hell.” Sam pointed out, pillow settled in his lap, “A whole universe of shit has happened since then and we’re both pretty different from how we were before that. It’s kinda what happens when you deal with _the Apocalypse_.”  
  
She pouted, “Well, I’m only using what I’ve got to work with. Which is, need I remind you, the books and all of, like, 30 minutes of interaction between the two of them.” Charlie waved her hand at Castiel and the door, and then paused with a thoughtful tilt to her head, “Speaking of… It’s been way too long to get more beer. The nearest store isn’t even a whole ten minutes away.” She glanced at the door, frowning, “So what’s taking Dean so long?”  
  
“That… is a very good question.” Sam looked too and they both ended up staring at the door, watching it as if Dean was going to walk through the door the longer they looked at it.  
  
Instead of joining in the staring, Castiel dug a cell phone out of one of his pockets and proceeded to do the what Sam should have been doing. He called Dean.  
  
“Dean, where are you?”  
  
Charlie and Sam whipped around in unison, transferring their suspicious looks from the door to the angel.   
  
“Are you coming back any time soon?”  
  
They looked to each other, frowning, before looking back at Castiel.  
  
“I see. Thank you.” He closed the phone with a snap and turned to the pair on the couch, “Dean changed his mind and went to a bar. He says he’ll return later.”  
  
Castiel actually recoiled a little when Charlie jumped to her feet, surprising Sam in the process, “No, no! This is perfect! This totally plays into one of the plans! Dean’s already running hot from earlier, and now he’s going to have who knows how much booze in him. If we pretty you up a bit, I bet we could get a girl to hit on you five minutes after we’re in the doors. After that, boom! Possessive-jealous-Dean and suddenly you’re making out in the back alley like Jack and Ianto.”  
  
“I don’t know who –”  
  
“Not important.” She flapped her hand and bounded over the coffee table, “No, scratch that. Very important. After we get you and Dean to announce your undying love for each other, I swear to your Dad that we are parking your butt on this couch and you are going to watch every single DVD I own. But first things first, we need to get you a change of clothes.”  
  
Sam raised his hand like the good student he probably used to be in school, “Where, exactly, are we going to find Cas new clothes?”  
  
Charlie froze mid-stride toward the bathroom. She turned slowly and frowned at the expectant eyes of her guests. With hands on her hips, she chewed on her bottom lip and thought over that very good, wrench-in-the-works, question. It’s not like she had any clothes that would fit him. She might have the hair product and some lip-chap, but she was majorly lacking in all other departments.  
  
“Well… We’ll just have to make do. I’m going to get some things from the bathroom. Cas, you strip down to… I dunno, your lowest layer of shirt or something. Your pants and shoes will have to stay. Ditch the tie and the overcoat.”  
  
Castiel dragged his fingers along the lapels of his coat and Charlie would almost swear that he was pouting, “I like my coat.”  
  
“I know you do, sweetie. And it helps with the whole badass angel of the lord thing you’ve got going, but in a bar you’d be pegged as the dude more likely to flash you his junk and run away laughing instead of the guy you’d like to take home and defile in every way imaginable.”  
  
“Charlie!” Sam groaned, dropping his face into his hands.  
  
Castiel didn’t move. He stared at Charlie evenly and she returned the look with a quirked eyebrow. It was pretty unnerving and she wanted to look away, but she had to hold her ground otherwise all of this would be for nothing. Yeah, she could probably just go back to running her program to find those witches without batting an eyelash and pretend like none of this had ever happened. But… where was the _fun_ in that?   
  
Sam sighed and pushed his hair back, tucking it behind his ears, “Come on, Cas. I’ll…” He physically cringed at the thought, “I’ll help you get ready.”  
  
Castiel’s lips twitched and then he stood, shedding his trench coat as he got up. Charlie nodded in satisfaction and made a beeline for the bathroom. She didn’t use hair gel often, mostly for cosplaying, but she still had a tub of it kicking around somewhere under the sink. She grabbed her hair spray, just in case. She got the lip-chap too, because Cas’s lips just looked _painfully dry_.  
  
Sam had Castiel completely shirtless by the time she got back. Charlie made a frustrated noise, “I said leave his shirt _on_.”   
  
“I know.” Sam muttered, unbuttoning his flannel and shucking that off, “I’m giving him my undershirt.”  
  
“Aw, no. That’s not gonna look nice!” Charlie shoved her things into his hands, effectively stopping Sam from removing his t-shirt, “Hold these.”   
  
“But I –”  
  
He sunk back onto the couch with a puppy-eyed pout when Charlie fixed him with an expression that clearly said that she was not to be messed with. It was a look she was particularly good at and used often in her D&D group to quell the idiots. Castiel looked between them with raised eyebrows and the easy air of someone with zero embarrassment over being the only half-naked person in the room.   
  
Charlie scooped his dress shirt off the floor, “Put this on and start rolling the cuffs.”  
  
He did with calm, careful movements under her watchful eye, stopping with them tucked up just before his elbows. She stopped him from doing up the top two buttons and when he reached for his tie, she slapped his hand.   
  
“I said ‘no’.”  
  
Castiel frowned at her and Charlie grabbed his wrists, lifting them up and out of the way so she could tuck his shirt back into his pants. She scrutinized his belt and slacks, glaring at them like they had personally affronted her. Which, they kind of were. They just didn’t fit right with the image she was trying to get. Charlie ruffled her fingers through her hair, thinking hard about the contents of her closet.   
  
She had her costumes, and her fancy stuff, and her day to day stuff. Her pajamas and her winter clothes. But she was nearly half a foot shorter than Castiel and absolutely none of that would fit. And even if she could convince Sam to give up his pants, they would be way too big and far too unflattering for Cas. What she needed was a nice pair of jeans that were too big for her and too small for Sam, something like her ex-girlfriend used to –  
  
“Holy shit.”  
  
“What is it?” Castiel asked, head tilted.   
  
“Nobody move!” Charlie bolted from the room and took the stairs two at a time to get to her bedroom.  
  
Of course, neither of them listened to her because she heard them enter the room behind her as she pulled open the door of her closet. She ignored them and started pulling things out by the handful, tossing things over her shoulder. Sam gave a disgruntled shout and Castiel grunted in surprise as they took a Star Trek Ensign costume and a hoodie with built in Tauren horns to the face, respectively.  
  
“Holy crap, how much clothing does one girl need?”  
  
“Hush!” Charlie hissed over her shoulder, elbow deep in a box of things buried at the back of her closet, “These are _essentials_ that I’ve carefully accumulated since you guys made me ditch everything when I went on the run from the Leviathans and I swear to Cas’s Dad if this thing with the witches makes me have to run again, you’re all buying me new stu– _Yes_!”  
  
Triumphant, Charlie pulled back from the closet waving her discovery in the air like a flag of victory. She turned around and pointed dramatically at Castiel’s belt buckle, “Ditch the slacks, shiny-butt! I’ve got something that’ll make the entire bar look at you with stars in their eyes!”  
  
“I don’t particularly want them to do that.” Castiel murmured, fingers working at his belt regardless, “Just Dean.” He sat down on the bed to work the pants off over his shoes.  
  
“No, Cas, y’gotta take the shoes off first.” Sam rubbed his hand over his face, sounding more than a little exasperated, “You’ll never get those pants off that way. And for the love of God, Charlie, please tell me those aren’t what I think they are.”  
  
Charlie grinned, hugging her find to her chest, “Oh they are, they so totally are. If Dean doesn’t drool out his river of D’Nile once he sees your ass in these, Cas, then there might not be any hope for the good ship Destiel.”  
  
Cas looked up from pulling his pants off, “Excuse me?”  
  
“It’s the Dean slash Cas ship! Destiel! I’m so clever.” She practically purred before holding out the pants, “Now put these on and let’s see that butt!”  
  
Castiel narrowed his eyes at her before transferring his glare to the jeans, “Those look… tight.”  
  
“They’re going to be,” Sam muttered from behind his hand, cheeks pink, “They’re skinny-jeans, Cas. They’re _girls_ ’ skinny-jeans.”  
  
“My last girlfriend was about your height. And she made an _awesome_ Seven-of-Nine. But seriously, just wear these. Do it. Now. I will not take no for an answer and I _will_ manhandle you into them if I have to.” Charlie bounced in place and held out her hand to Sam, “Give me the hair gel.”  
  
He rolled his eyes and handed it over as Castiel all but writhed on the edge of the bed, trying to get the jeans up his thighs and over his thin, boney hips. Charlie slicked her fingers in the gel and gestured at Sam to help Castiel with the pants. The look she received was less than pleased and Charlie narrowed her eyes at him until he did.   
  
“Stand up, Cas.”   
  
“But they’re not on yet.”  
  
“Just… stand up.” Sam dropped the hairspray and lip-chap on the bed and hauled the angel to his feet. Looking entirely too uncomfortable with the action, he fit his fingers into the belt loops and jerked them up, actually lifting Cas off the floor a good few inches as he did it.  
  
Castiel sucked in a breath and made an odd high pitched noise, arms pin-wheeling slightly. It took all of Charlie’s not-inconsiderable amount of self-control to not laugh herself silly at the sight of a moose helping an angel of the lord into a pair of skinny jeans. Sam stopped and stepped away, hands up, “Dude, did that hurt you?”  
  
“No. But… they are very... _snug_. I…” Castiel shifted, hand twitching towards his crotch, “I think I need to make adjustments… And I… I don’t think we’ll be able to tuck the shirt in with these pants. There is simply not going to be enough room.”  
  
Charlie turned her back, “We’ll work with that when we get to it. Adjust what you need to, I’m not looking. Sam, help him if he needs it.”  
  
“No, absolutely not. I draw the line at helping him with his _junk_.” Sam hissed, sounding equal parts outraged and disgusted, “Just, fix yourself and button up.”  
  
Castiel made little annoyed grunts and Charlie twiddled her thumbs to the rustling of the jeans. She was getting impatient by the time Cas hissed out a breath, “These are uncomfortable. But I’m done.”  
  
“Good!” She spun around, smiling brightly as she pointed at the bed for him to sit, “Ooo! For an angel, you have some nice legs.”  
  
“Jimmy was a jogger.”  
  
Charlie stuck her gelled hands into the mess of Castiel’s hair, “Who’s Jimmy?”  
  
“He was my vessel, but his soul has moved on now and this body is mine… What are you doing to my hair?” He went cross-eyed trying to see as Charlie fixed it into her best approximation of disheveled-but-sexy-as-hell.   
  
She opted not to answer and wiped her hands clean on the comforter of her bed and grabbed the lip-chap, “Pucker up, sweetheart.”  
  
He frowned and Charlie cupped his chin, squeezing his cheeks together and forcibly applying the lip-chap until his lips didn’t look so painful anymore and were just a little bit shiny because okay, maybe her lip-chap doubled as her lip-gloss. Ignoring his curious and displeased look, she pulled him to his feet and examined his shirt.   
  
“I think… we can make this look better. Hold on.” She moved to her dresser and started rummaging through boxes of odds and ends. She knew she had some things here that she could use, she just had to _find_ them. “Sam, help him get his shoes on. He’s not going to be able to bend over properly in those.”  
  
“My lips feel tingly.” Castiel murmured, pressing them together.   
  
Sam caught his wrist when he went to touch them, “Yeah, don’t do that. You’ll get that crap on your hands.” He dropped to his knees next to Cas, “Lift your foot.”  
  
Charlie returned to Castiel’s side with safety-pins held between her teeth, “Arms up, hun. I’ve gotta get at your sides.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I’m going to make them pinch up so your shirt doesn’t hang so… so…” She waved one hand in a vague gesture while pulling the fabric together with the other, “So formlessly. I’m going to give it some _style_.”  
  
Castiel frowned down at her, “But why?”  
  
“To get the ladies to notice you.”  
  
“I don’t want the ladies to notice me.”  
  
“You do tonight.”  
  
“Not really, no.”  
  
Charlie huffed a frustrated sigh through her nose, plucking a pin from her teeth to fix the shirt in place. She looked down at Sam where he was trying to tie Castiel’s shoes without getting in Charlie’s way. Raising her eyebrows at him, she silently asked him to help her out.   
  
Sam rolled his eyes and shuffled uncomfortably. “We’re trying out the ‘Make Dean Jealous’ plan, Cas. If we get the ladies to notice you and Dean sees them hitting on you, we’re hoping he, y’know, reacts and acts upon his… latent homosexual feelings for you. Or something”  
  
“Exactly.” Charlie nodded, “Although…”  
  
“Although, what?” Sam asked, cautiously. Which was entirely too uncalled for. This plan was _genius_ and Sam shouldn’t be scared of any aspect of it. In fact, he should stay on his knees and worship the ground she walked upon, thanking her profusely for not making _him_ seduce Cas in front of Dean.  
  
Charlie shrugged, “Maybe the plan will work better if some _guys_ hit on Cas instead.”  
  
“I don’t _want_ guys hitting on me.”  
  
She let her head droop before turning Castiel around to bunch up the fabric in the small of his back, “Yes, we know. But it’s a necessary sacrifice to get Dean riled up. If anybody tries to take anything too far into the realm of ‘uncomfortable’, then you can just tell them ‘no’ and walk away. Sam and I will be there too, so it’ll be okay.”  
  
Stepping away, Charlie looked her masterpiece over and smiled, “Well aren’t you just the prettiest boy going to the ball!” Castiel opened his mouth to object and Charlie held up a finger to shush him, “It’s just a saying. We’re not actually going to a gala event. We’re just going to the bar. Speaking of, Sam, you wanna gussy yourself up a bit?” She eyed his hair and plucked thoughtfully at the hair-tie she always wore around her wrist.  
  
He recoiled from her a few steps, wide-eyed like Charlie was going to pounce on him next, “No, I’m good!”  
  
“Alrighty then! Let me grab my bag and we can make like leaves on the wind.” She led the way back downstairs and pulled on her jacket and bag. Sam locked the front door and she frowned at him, “I dunno ‘bout you, but we usually do that _after_ we’re on the _other_ side.”  
  
Sam jerked his thumb at Castiel, “Angel Airway.”  
  
Before she could turn around, Castiel’s hand settled on her shoulder and Sam’s. In the space between one blink and the next, with a sharp tug behind her naval and the sound of beating wings and rushing air in her ears, they were standing outside in the cool evening air next to a shiny ’67 Chevy Impala.  
  
Castiel pointed across the street to a bar with a flickering neon sign and a few smokers milling around the door, “That’s where Dean is.”  
  
Charlie hitched her bag higher up her shoulder, “Well then let’s get this show on the road!” 


	5. In Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan might have been doomed the moment they walked in the door, but Charlie swore she'd see this through to the end. She just hadn't anticipated Dean Winchester. And if she was being honest? She had _definitely_ overestimated angelic patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. But there _will_ be one little smutty 'extra' uploaded next week. 
> 
> I just want to thank everyone so much for reading. To everyone who took the time to comment and drop a kudos on this story, _thank you_. I wasn't expecting anything like this when I started this story (dude, it was supposed to be a _oneshot_ ). And I'm just overwhelmed by your kindness. Truly, thank you. 
> 
> I hope you'll stick around for more stories. Thank you again. ♥

The moment they stepped into the bar, Charlie knew shit was about to go down. She resisted the urge to grab Castiel’s arm and drag him back out the front door before he even got the chance to look around. It physically hurt to not do that, but they needed to stay. This was necessary and by the fires of Mordor she was going to _make this work_.  
  
Even if Dean was screwing things up worse than Pippin knocking the skeleton into the well. Truth be told, Charlie would probably pick handling a cave troll over what was about to happen.  
  
Charlie knew the exact moment when Castiel saw what she was seeing. He went tense and rigid at her shoulder and the air around them _changed_. She seriously considered ducking under the nearest table when she could feel her hair start to frizz at the sheer _volume_ of static electricity charging the air. Every light in the place started to flicker and the jukebox and TVs started changing songs and channels.  
  
She was ninety-five percent sure that Cas was about to unleash a serious can of angelic whoop-ass and all of it was going to be directed straight at the brunette leaning heavily against Dean’s side, an arm looped around his waist and her lips against his ear. If Charlie was to speak in Dean’s defense, he did have his elbows on the counter and he was hunching over his beer. In fact, he really wasn’t paying the lady much attention. But the whole problem with the matter was that he wasn’t _telling her ‘no’.  
  
_ The moment the lights started flickering, Dean’s head snapped up and Charlie certainly didn’t miss how his hand went to the small of his back, dipping under his jacket. There was something inherently awesome (and simultaneously terrifying) about having friends who actually carried weapons tucked into the back of their jeans. Dean stepped away from the woman and started glancing around.  
  
Sam planted himself between Cas and Dean, “Castiel. You need to reign in the mojo. _Now_. Before you wings pop out and we have to blow this joint before we make any kind of headway.”  
  
Castiel’s glare was still on the woman. Charlie tugged on his arm to get his attention. It wouldn’t do any of them any good if Dean saw Castiel while he had his smite on. It looked like it was physically difficult for him to calm down, but Cas allowed himself to be dragged by Charlie and pushed by Sam toward a booth by the wall opposite the bar. They weren’t nearly fast enough to get their before Dean had spotted them.  
  
To be fair, Sam was a billion feet tall and Charlie’s (ridiculously beautiful, thank you very much) red hair were both highly conspicuous. Charlie lays blame at those fun facts for Dean following them across the bar to the booth. And she blames Castiel for the angelic mojo that had everyone kind of looking at them funny and getting Dean’s notice in the first place. Luckily, the other patron’s attentions faded away when the lights stopped flickering. She heard the bartender laughing it off as a ‘power surge’.  
  
“What the hell are you guys doing here?” Dean started with the questions the moment he reached the edge of their booth.  
  
Charlie flashed him her brightest, most conniving grin, “You drank all my beer. We wanted more. You came here instead of getting more. You’re fairly smart, I don’t think I need to do the math for you. Do I?”  
  
Dean narrowed his eyes at her. The look lasted barely long enough for Charlie to register it. In the next moment, he was goggle-eyed and red-faced and staring past her. He was doing a very good impersonation of a fish and his throat worked around words he wasn’t saying. Charlie’s fingers actually twitched for the cell phone in her pocket. These guys really needed to stop giving her such perfect expressions to be gif-ed. It was getting harder and harder to resist.  
  
He finally managed to choke out one syllable, “…Cas?”  
  
Charlie looked back to Castiel. His hands were fisted on the table top and he still had that stormy look on his face. It was a slight hitch in the plan that he didn’t even look toward Dean. She pressed her elbow into his side, widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows at him warningly when he glanced to her. His lips thinned out before he flicked his eyes up over her shoulder.  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
“What… Cas, what the _hell_ are you wearing?”  
  
Sam was flipping through a menu, “They’re called ‘clothes’.”  
  
“They’re not _his_ clothes!”  
  
Castiel frowned, “The shirt is.”  
  
“You don’t like his outfit, Dean?” Charlie’s bottom lip punched out in a pout to end all pouts and she looked up at him with wide, hurt eyes, “We spent a lot of effort getting him ready to come party.”  
  
Dean’s eyes narrowed at her and Charlie had to wrestle with her self-control to keep her cheer internal because he was totally balling his hands into fists and she’s ninety-eight percent sure that that’s for physical restraint to keep from grabbing Castiel and kissing him senseless and not to keep from punching her in the throat. She knows he has no qualms about hitting girls because monsters aren’t exactly gender-specific. But she hoped he’d make the exception and not hit her because she is, in her opinion, far too adorable and loveable for that to be ever be allowed.  
  
She’s also reasonably sure that Castiel or Sam would stop him before he could.  
  
The silence extended for an uncomfortable amount of time. Castiel continued to look at Dean in that unblinking way of his that never seemed to unnerve Dean the way it did everyone else. Sam seemed to be having difficulty keeping a smirk off his face and Charlie dug her heel into the top of his shoe. It wouldn’t help anything if he gave things away. Seriously, weren’t these guys professional liars when it came to having to get onto crime scenes and things? How could they be so _terrible_ at following a simple little plan?  
  
“Dean?” Charlie prompted, all fluttering innocent eyelashes and perfect pout.  
  
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “Let me get this straight. You guys came here… to _party_?”  
  
“I do believe those were the words that came out of my mouth, yes.” She nodded.  
  
“Since when do you–” He flicked his hard edged look from Castiel to Sam and back again to include the both of them in his question, “– _party_?”  
  
“I thought it would be an interesting experience.” Castiel answered smoothly and Charlie fought the impulse to hug him for his perfect reply. And then it got _better_. “With the assistance of Charlie and Sam, we’ve dressed me in appropriate attire for our plans for the evening.”  
  
“And what ‘plans’ require freakin’ _skinny jeans,_ Cas?” Suspicion was rolling off Dean in potent waves and Charlie could _feel_ the glare burning the back of her head. But no, she wasn’t going to give Dean the satisfaction of melting her face off with his laser-beam eyes. She was going to keep looking at Castiel because he wasn’t done talking yet and she was just so _proud_ of him.  
  
“You make it a point of telling me, constantly, that as hunters any day could be our last. Therefore I’ve come here tonight with the intention of completing what you attempted the night before we first faced Raphael.”  
  
At that, both Charlie and Sam looked to Dean. As far as he knew, neither of them were supposed to have any idea what that meant. They both shared a victorious glance when Dean paled. Neither one of them asked about what Castiel was referencing because Dean already looked like he was one word away from exploding.  
  
“You’re… _what_?” Now _that_ was definitely a squeak. And Dean didn’t even seem to care that he was _squeaking_. He was staring wide-eyed and horrified at Castiel. Charlie took it as a victory that he seemed to have completely forgotten that she and Sam were also sitting in the booth.  
  
“Charlie, I would like to get up.” Castiel nudged her shoulder with his own and then looked between her and Sam, “I’m going to go order drinks. Is there anything you would like?”  
  
“Just a beer. Thanks, Cas.” Sam leaned to the side to pull money from his pocket, “Here, pay with this.”  
  
Charlie exchanged places with Castiel and passed him some money of her own, “I’ll take a Blue Lagoon, please. Can you make sure they make it with lemonaide?”  
  
“Of course.” Castiel paused at Dean’s shoulder, looking at him coolly, “Is there anything you would like, Dean?”  
  
Dean’s throat was doing that weird thing again and his mouth was kind of hanging open a little. He didn’t seem to know where to look. Charlie tried to keep a running tally in her head of how many times his eyes flicked from Castiel’s hair, to his lips, down to his exposed collarbone and back up again. She lost count somewhere in the high twenties.  
  
Sam reached out and tugged on Dean’s arm and Dean all but completely collapsed into the seat next to his brother, “He’ll take a beer. Just use my money.”  
  
Castiel nodded and walked away. Both Charlie and Sam watched Dean closely before sharing pleased grins. Dean either didn’t care that he was being caught quite blatantly staring at Castiel’s ass, or he had been struck dumb by the sheer gloriousness of a jogger’s butt in skinny jeans. Either way, he was lost to the world and Charlie counted that as a victory.  
  
She stole a glance after Castiel, just to make sure he was doing okay and to scope out the place for potential pawns in their plan. Charlie really wasn’t expecting her brain to pull a Sherlock Holmes. And she certainly wasn’t expecting her mouth to follow suit.  
  
“Wasn’t Castiel wearing boxers?”  
  
Both Winchesters looked at her with mixed expressions of horror and something that she thinks might be an expression meant to get across _‘what-the-fuck-why-are-you-looking-close-enough-to-notice’_. Rather than let her own question throw her off track, Charlie pointed at Castiel and the skinny jeans. “He was _definitely_ wearing boxers when I gave him the pants. But those things are so tight there’s no way we wouldn’t be able to see that he’s got something on underneath.” She looked to Sam, “Did he take them off while my back was turned?”  
  
To his credit, Sam didn’t flinch at the positively _murderous_ glare Dean turned on him. “You would have known if he had.”  
  
“True.” Charlie mused, rubbing a finger under her bottom lip and letting her eyes go unfocused as she thought it over, “You totally would have freaked out. And he was definitely wearing them when you helped him into the jeans…”  
  
“I wouldn’t have helped him if he wasn’t.”  
  
“Were you looking while he was ‘adjusting’?”  
  
Sam shuddered and made it a point not to make any sort of eye-contact with Dean (probably because if he did than he was going to combust under the sheer _intensity_ of it), “You weren’t the only one to turn their back.”  
  
Dean relaxed marginally and his expression dropped from apocalyptic to nuclear. Which, in Charlie’s opinion, was still verging on the spectrum of scary that the Dementors inhabited.  
  
“Don’t guys have to worry about… I dunno, jean-burn or something? The friction can’t be nice on his junk.” Charlie made a vague gesture with her hand. She couldn’t decide if liked their looks of horror or sympathy pain the most. The Winchesters could make some excellent faces if she chose her words right.  
  
She chewed her lip thoughtfully and glanced back toward the bar again. Castiel was standing ram-rod straight beside the stools with his hands on the counter while waiting for their drinks. Charlie counted no less than six people – mostly women (and she couldn’t decide if that was unfortunate or not) – eyeing him appreciatively.  
  
Belatedly, Charlie realized they should have actually _discussed_ with Castiel what he should do once someone started hitting on him. Standing around wasn’t going to do anything. He needed to look _available_. Not that he _was_ available, but really. If he didn’t try and look even _slightly_ approachable, their whole plan could crash and burn. Or… maybe not. Maybe the pants were going to achieve their goals all on their own. Dean certainly seemed to be having trouble _not_ looking.  
  
Sam suddenly made an odd little noise in the back of his throat and Charlie turned to him with a raised eyebrow. Dean, however, looked like it was physically painful to stop pretending he wasn’t looking at Cas and actually turn his head to face his brother. Sam was looking out over the top of Dean’s head and he was _grinning_.  
  
“Viable subject at ten o’clock.” He tilted his head to direct their attention to a woman – the same woman who had been leaning up against Dean not too long ago – sliding up the bar with a generous sway to her hips.  
  
From where Charlie was sitting, there were at least three possible ways this was going to play out. The first; Castiel would reciprocate her advances as per the plan. The second; he was going to smite her because she dared to touch Dean earlier. The third; Dean was going to drop her from across the bar with the gun hidden in the back of his jeans. Charlie’s hopes were on ‘option A’, but if she had to put all her dragon eggs in one basket, they were most likely going to end up with ‘option B’.  
  
None of them could hear over the music what was being said, but they were all watching – for various reasons of their own – as Castiel turned toward the woman. She was all smiles and bouncing curls and cleavage as she leaned against the counter next to him. Charlie pretended she didn’t notice Dean’s white knuckled grip on the table edge as nameless-woman-one chatted up Castiel and casually – though Charlie doubted there was a _casual_ way to do it – reached out and slipped her fingers through the belt loops of the skinny jeans. Then she gave them a light tug and Castiel allowed himself to be pulled closer to her. Charlie would almost swear on her signed copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire that she could actually _hear_ Dean grinding his teeth.  
  
“Well,” She cleared her throat and looked away as the woman leaned in to talk directly into Castiel’s ear, “It looks like Cas might actually luck out tonight. And we haven’t even been here for a whole five minutes.”  
  
A muscle twitched in Dean’s jaw and he stared hard at something (which Charlie thought might be nothing, but she wasn’t going to check) over her shoulder, “Yeah. Lucky him.”  
  
Sam pursed his lips and glanced between Charlie and Dean. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Dean was supposed to get up and go over and stake his claim. He wasn’t supposed to just sit there and glower like the kid who got sent to the corner for misbehaving. A niggling little voice in the back of Charlie’s mind was telling her that there was more work to be done. And she really hoped that what she was about to do wasn’t going to get her maimed or something.  
  
“Oh shit, Sam.” She donned a look of dramatic realization, “Did we remember to give Cas some condoms just in case?’  
  
Sam’s face did this twitchy little dance that was at once both amusing and worrying. It was like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to give her a bitchface, or laugh at her words, or try and answer with a straight face. Dean’s eyes went tight and dark for a moment and any answer Sam might have finally thought of giving never made it to the air because Dean just sagged forward to rub his forehead with his hand and pinch at the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Dean?” Sam asked, jostling his shoulder with his own, “You okay?”  
  
“Just peachy, Sammy.”  
  
“Did you drink too much?” Charlie asked, leaning against the table and trying to look at him from under his hand, “Does your head hurt? I have some wicked awesome painkillers I use for my cramps if you want one.”  
  
Both Winchesters wrinkled their noses at that but Dean shook his head, “I’m fine.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
No. No, no, no, no. _No_. This was _not_ how this was supposed to be happening. Dean wasn’t supposed to just _give up_. Charlie and Sam shared a panicked look. She chewed her lip and glanced worryingly to where Castiel and nameless-woman-one (who happened to have some serious personal spaces issues) are still talking. Well, _Cas_ seemed to be talking. The woman on the other hand was more or less plastered against him with her mouth still on his ear.  
  
“Well, I don’t think we’ll be getting our drinks any time soon.” Charlie dumped her bag in the corner of her bench and slid out of the booth, “I’ll go get them and give our boy some protection before the lovely lady holding his attention decides to _have_ him without leaving the building.”  
  
She sauntered off with the expectation of feeling Dean’s glare on her back. But she didn’t feel anything. Charlie checked over her shoulder and frowned because Dean hadn’t lifted his head or anything. His shoulders looked a little more tense, but he wasn’t rising to the bait like they were planning. Sam was watching her over the slope of Dean’s back. One shoulder twitched it what she figured was a subtle shrug.  
  
Charlie scowled and stomped the rest of the way to the bar. She came up next to Castiel and reached for their drinks. He turned his head to look at her and the woman made a soft mewl of disappointment when it made his ear move away. Charlie wanted to slap her hands with a ruler and get her as far from Cas as possible because she was _really_ starting to interfere with her ship. And if there’s one thing you _do not do_ it’s mess with someone’s _ship_.  
  
“Charlie?”  
  
She tucked the beer bottles against her chest, pinning them there with her arm. She left Cas his and picked up her drink. “It’s not working.”  
  
Castiel looked over his shoulder and frowned at Dean hunched over the table. “What do I do?”  
  
“I don’t know. He’s not acting like we thought he would.”  
  
He hummed disapprovingly, “Dean does have the unfortunate habit of doing the opposite of what you want him to do.”  
  
“What’s up, sugar?” The woman leaned around Castiel to look Charlie up and down, “She your girlfriend?”  
  
Charlie snorted, “No way, _sugar_. He’s not my type and I’m certainly not his.” She completely ignored the confused look she got in return and looked up Castiel, her eyebrows lifted meaningfully, “Maybe, for this to work, you should be looking in a different direction. The same direction that Dean happens to be in. But not at him, you get what I’m saying?”  
  
Castiel frowned at her for a few moments before nodding, “You’re suggesting that I attempt to solicit the attention of a man instead of a woman.”  
  
Nameless-woman-one suddenly looked scandalized. She looked sharply between Charlie and Castiel. Realizing that she was being completely ignored, she huffed out a few choice insults that Charlie didn’t register and she’s pretty sure that Castiel simply didn’t care enough to hear her and strode away.  
  
Charlie winked, internally relieved that the woman was gone, “Bingo. And as a heads up, there are at least two guys who _aren’t_ Dean who’ve been eyeing you up since we walked in. Oh, here.” She ruffled in her pocket and held out an empty hand, “Pretend I handed you something and put it in your pocket. I told Dean I was coming over here to get the drinks and give you some condoms in case you got lucky.”  
  
“And his reaction was?” He passed his palm over hers and ghosted it over his pocket in a rather pathetic attempt at being sneaky.  
  
“I thought he was trying to explode my head with his mind.”  
  
His brow furrowed, “Dean doesn’t have that ability.”  
  
“I know it was just a ref– Never mind. Just add it to the list of things we’ll have to school you in when you’re done sexing it up with Dean.” Charlie sighed, shaking her head. “Now just turn around, lean back against the bar, cross your legs at the ankle and try to… look seductive, or something.” She shifted her weight to look over his shoulder while trying to not look like she was looking over his shoulder (a tricky maneuver if there ever was one), “One of the guys who’s looking at you like he wants to have you for dinner is sitting in the corner behind you. He’s the one in the blue v-neck. When you lean back, look around the bar a few times. If you manage to make eye-contact with him because he’s looking, don’t look away. Hold it for a bit, even while taking a drink. Then look away but keep looking back every so often. He’ll come over soon enough.”  
  
Castiel picked up his beer and turned around, “Are you sure this will work?”  
  
Charlie shrugged, trying not to spill any of the drinks on the sleeve of her sweater, “Honestly? I don’t know. This isn’t really how I flirt. I’m more… _direct_ when I pick up chicks. But I’ve watched a lot of TV and movies and I hope to your Dad that they were at least partially truthful.”  
  
“What do you mean by ‘direct’?”  
  
“If I see somebody I want and they seem unattached, I go over and chat them up or make the first move, y’know? If we hit it off, we hit it off. If we don’t, we don’t. I like it simple like that. None of this pussy-footing around that you and Dean are doing, no offense. It’s just really not for me. I’m more action oriented.” Charlie glanced back over to the table while she explained and frowned.  
  
Dean was sitting facing Sam now, twisted at the waist so the bar was presented with his back. Sam was talking to him and he kept gesturing out toward where Charlie and Castiel were standing and she was totally going to buy him a cookie or something later for trying so hard to get the plan to work while Dean was being a dick and not playing along nicely.  
  
“So you favour the direct approach?” Castiel asked quietly, nursing his beer.  
  
Charlie chewed absently at the straw of her drink. She was thinking hard about what she could do to help open Dean’s eyes. “Yeah, sure do.”  
  
Castiel hummed again before he put the beer down with a thump. She nearly choked on her sip of her cocktail when he brushed past her. Charlie really had to admire the skinny jeans as he crossed the bar in long, quick strides. A moment later, Charlie shook herself free from a jeans-induced stupor and trotted after him. She could see Sam’s wide-eyed reaction as he sat up straighter.  
  
“Something wrong, Cas?” He asked when they reached the table.  
  
Charlie would take her small victories where she could. Right now, she would count Dean turning around and looking up at Castiel as one. He was straight-faced, but Charlie really hoped the softening around his eyes was him being happy that Cas had ditched nameless-woman-one.  
  
“No, Sam. Nothing is wrong.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow and his mouth twitched in what Charlie figured was him attempting a snide smirk, “She not your type, Cas?”  
  
“No, she was not.”  
  
Charlie came up beside him and slid into her side of the booth. She passed Sam his beer and placed Dean’s in front of him. Still sipping at her drink, because _damn_ blue lagoons not only looked good but they tasted _amazing_. “So what’s the problem then?”  
  
“There is no problem. I am simply taking the ‘direct approach’.”  
  
She choked on her drink.  
  
Sam choked on his drink.  
  
Dean raised both eyebrows and glanced between them, “There something I’m missing here?”  
  
Charlie scrubbed her mouth with the back of her hand and coughed hard, “What? _What?_ You won’t _talk_ but you’ll take the _direct approach_?”  
  
“We failed to take into account that Dean is a man of action. And actions speak louder than words.” Castiel responded promptly before hauling Dean up and out of his seat by the lapels of his coat and pushing their mouths together in the surprise kiss to end all surprise kisses.  
  
Charlie very nearly spat her drink across the table.  
  
Sam _did_ spit his drink across the table.  
  
Dean went very, very still. He had one hand frozen on Castiel’s wrist, the other paused in mid air reaching for his other arm. His eyes were wide and he was staring right back at Castiel because Cas was kissing him with his eyes open and _seriously_ could these two stop with the eye-sex for like two freaking seconds? Then Charlie noticed it. Castiel was kissing Dean, but Dean _wasn’t kissing back_. She felt her insides twist and turn icy and she couldn’t imagine what Castiel might be feeling when he noticed (if he hadn’t already).  
  
The kiss ended as abruptly as it started.  
  
Castiel stepped away and let Dean drop back onto the bench. Sam and Charlie watched Dean closely for his reaction. He was doing the stoic face. The same face he had before he left Charlie’s house earlier. It did not bode well. Without taking his eyes off Castiel, Dean took his beer and downed it in several long gulps. It made a hollow thud against the table top and Charlie flinched at it.  
  
Dean dragged a hand across his mouth and stood. Castiel took another step back to make space for Dean to pass him. Charlie and Sam shared twin looks of disappointed horror. Castiel’s lips pressed together into a tight line and his eyes flickered to the floor before he bowed his head, his hands curled into trembling fists at his sides. Charlie’s pretty sure his heart was breaking and hers was too.  
  
“Castiel, I’m sor–” Sam started.  
  
“Cas!”  
  
All three of them flinched at the sharp call. Charlie twisted around on the bench and peered over the edge of it. Dean stood in the doorway to the bar, propping it open with his back. He had one hand in the pocket of his jeans and he jerked the other to gesture out the door.  
  
“You coming or what?”  
  
Best of all, he was _smiling_.  
  
Castiel turned confused eyes to Charlie and she looked back at him, just as stunned. But unlike him, she was smiling bright and wide and victorious, “Go get ‘em, big boy.”  
  
And suddenly Castiel was all wide-eyed nervous innocence. He swallowed thickly and leaned across the table to steal Sam’s beer, downing it in two long draughts. He did the same to Charlie’s drink and she really didn’t feel nearly as outraged about that as she should be. She didn’t watch as he straightened his shirt and went out after Dean because that would be rude and even if Dean was privy to their plan by now, she didn’t want to seem _that_ obsessed with the results. She faced Sam instead and watched his expression like a hawk.  
  
His whole face lit up before she heard the door boom shut. Immediately she leaned forward across the table, “What? What did you see?”  
  
Sam grinned back, “Dean took Cas’s _hand._ ”  
  
Charlie whooped and punched the air and they high-fived with a resounding clap that drew way more attention than it should have and kind of made her hand sting _a lot_. With a grand wave of her arm, she shouted across the room to the bartender, “A round of beer for everyone in the house!”  
  
“How can you afford that?”  
  
“Oh, I’m not paying for it.” She grinned, waggling her eyebrows at him.  
  
Charlie was so pleased with how things turned out that she couldn’t even bring herself to be bothered by the bitchface. She was running hot on the high of a successful plan (even if it didn’t actually work out the way they’d planned). This was almost as awesome as the time her group took down The Lich King.  
  
Almost. 

**End**


	6. Extra - Castiel and Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Sam's hard work comes to fruition in this extra. Dean and Castiel put a big black 'X' through the UST in their relationship and even manage to solve a few lingering doubts in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried writing this in the past tense like I did with the previous chapters. But it just came out _wrong_. So... I'm sorry about the tense shift, but this is written in the present and it's all from Castiel's point of view.
> 
> It's also the first time I've written smut in over a year and somehow this ended up longer than any of the previous chapters and there's a bit of a plot in there, if you look hard enough. Maybe. I dunno. There's certainly more than I ever thought was going to be in this. 
> 
> **Thank you to everyone who's read, commented, kudos-ed, bookmarked, and subscribed to this story. Your kindness and encouragement was more than I was ever expecting and I pretty much cried every time. Thank you so much and if you plan to stick around to read anything else I post, I hope I don't disappoint you.**

Castiel is nervous and his vessel’s senses feel magnified. Dean’s hand is warm in his and his fingers are tight as he drags him across the street. He turns him and presses Castiel against the car. The metal frame of the impala is cold against his back but Dean’s lips are hot against his. He’s a long line of solid _heat_ pressed all down his front.

“ _Dean_ –” Castiel exhales against his mouth when he pulls away to breathe. It’s the only thing he can get out before Dean licks back in, insistent and possessive and _there._

Dean’s hands are like brands on his waist, fingers pushing up the hem of his shirt and searing the skin he finds there. Castiel doesn’t know where to put his own. He’s fisting handfuls of Dean’s jacket before running them through his hair and settling them on his shoulders. He can’t keep them still and they slip down along his back. He wants to touch all of Dean.

Teeth play over his bottom lip and Dean sucks on it before soothing it over with a wash of his tongue. It sends shivering bolts of lightning down Castiel’s spine and he stifles a moan against Dean’s lips. Sinking his fingers into Dean’s hair, he tips his head and parts Dean’s lips with his tongue and he _claims_. He tastes bitter beer and the salt of peanuts and everything that is purely _Dean._

He parts his thighs and Dean slides closer, fitting a leg between them. His pants are tight and firmly holding his growing erection down. It’s uncomfortable and if he would allow himself to feel it, it would probably be painful. Castiel wants them off. He wants Dean’s clothes off too. He wants to see and feel just how scarred Dean’s skin has become since Castiel put together the grave rot that was left of Dean Winchester over six years ago.

Six years. A pin prick in the _millennia_ of Castiel’s life. And nothing he has ever done, no one he has ever met, have meant more to him than the man rolling his hips against his. Dean swallows his startled gasp and his fingers tighten in the hair at the back of Castiel’s head. They pull back, baring the column of his throat to Dean’s mouth.

Castiel exhales heavily and his fingers scrabble for purchase on Dean’s arms as Dean seals his lips over his pulse point and _sucks_. He presses his fingertips harder than necessary into Dean’s back, pulling him closer. There are small noises tearing their way out of his mouth and he can’t be bothered to stop them.

Teeth scrape over skin and his hips stutter against Dean’s. There is warm breath ghosting over his ear and Castiel has to bite his lip to stifle another loud moan when Dean’s tongue traces the curve of it. He can’t stop the second groan at the rumble of Dean’s voice against his skin.

“She touched you here, right? The chick at the bar. She put her lips on you here?”

Dean’s fingers find Castiel’s wrists and pull them away, pinning them down at his sides against the car door. He squirms, rubbing against the thigh pressed between his legs. Castiel could easily break his hold. They both know it and it’s a sign of trust that Castiel doesn’t.

“Dean –“

“Yes or no, Cas.” Dean nips sharply at his ear and a number of things happen all at once with Castiel’s vessel.

The word escapes him on a hiss of air. “ _Yes.”_

He _whines_ , loud and sudden. His back arches, pressing his chest against Dean’s. His hips twitch hard against him. Dean is smiling against his skin, he can feel it with the press of lips to the soft skin below his ear. He does it again, worrying the lobe between lips and teeth before sucking hard and dipping his tongue in. It makes Castiel’s whole body tremble.

Castiel can sense eyes watching them. He knows they’re out in the open, pressed against the impala on the side of a street and Castiel is being anything but quiet. He wants to hear the same sounds from Dean. He _wants_ everything Dean is willing to give. And he doesn’t want anyone else to have it, to see it, to _hear_ it, ever again.

He surges forward and hooks his foot behind Dean’s ankle. He pulls and pushes, forcing Dean back and for one moment Dean is wide-eyed and falling. Castiel spreads his wings in the sub-space where he hides them. They beat once, twice, and Dean’s fall is stopped by the mattress of Charlie’s bed.

“Shit! Cas!” Dean sits up only to be pushed back down, Castiel’s hand firm against his chest.

Castiel straddles Dean’s lap and ignores the tight stretch of the jeans over his erection. He’ll deal with that later. Dean’s hands are on his thighs and sliding up to his hips as Castiel leans over him. He tips his chin up and Castiel knows Dean is expecting a kiss, but he isn’t going to give him that. Not yet. He needs to do for Dean what he’s already done for him.

Dean makes a noise of protest as Castiel grips his chin and makes him turn his head to the side. Castiel is more harsh with his teeth and tongue and lips than Dean was as he cleans away the smears of lipstick along the edge of his ear. The taste is cloying and he can smell her perfume. He cleanses his palate with the salt of Dean’s skin and rubs the stubble of his cheek and jaw against Dean’s neck.

“She touched you too.” He’s almost startled by his own voice. It’s rasping and deep. Dean groans and bucks against him and if Castiel was allowing himself to move, it might have unseated him. “Where else did she touch you?”

His hands find their way under Dean’s jacket and the flannel over shirt. He presses rough, nibbling kisses along the line of Dean’s jaw until he reaches his lips again. Dean lifts his head from the bed, seeking another burning kiss like the ones they shared against the car. Castiel pulls back after the first tantalizing brush of lips.

“ _Dean_. Where else did she touch you?” He repeats the question with narrowed eyes. If she touched Dean elsewhere then Dean needs to be cleansed of it.

“Christ, Cas, that was it. Now _get down here_.” Dean fists handfuls of Castiel’s shirt and he allows himself to be pulled into another bruising kiss that leaves him breathless.

He feels his shirt get pulled tight across his back before he hears the sound of stitches popping. It’s a monumental effort of will to pull away from Dean’s lips and tongue. Castiel looks down at the tatters that remain of the front of his shirt. Only the top two buttons, which weren’t even buttoned in the first place, are still attached. The rest are scattered across Dean’s chest.

Castiel sits back and shrugs the shirt off. It’s fixed and devoid of safety pins before it even hits the floor. Dean works his arms out of his jacket and over shirt, leaving them lying on the bed as he sits up. His mouth is warm and wet on Castiel’s clavicle and his hands are everywhere. They’re firm but fleeting over his chest, thumbs pausing only a moment to rub at his nipples. The action elicits another full-body quake and Castiel tips his head back with his moan.

Dean’s grin is obvious and he trails kisses down Castiel’s chest. His licks and sucks and bites are experimental. Castiel knows he’s testing all areas for his reactions. He presses himself as tightly inside his vessel as he can, soaking up every sensation and how it makes his body tremble. Dean’s hands pass over his ribs and up along his shoulder blades and down his spine. They move around his hips, fingers skirting the hem of the low slung jeans until he presses warm palms to Castiel’s stomach.

He slides his fingers up Dean’s back, dragging the t-shirt with them. Dean grunts in annoyance when he has to move away to allow it to be pulled over his head. Castiel throws it over his shoulder and leans against Dean as he moves his clothing off the blankets. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist and drags him with him when he shimmies further up the bed.

Castiel blindly finds Dean’s lips again and presses quick, insistent kisses to them. It’s his turn to touch and taste and map the differences of Dean’s body since the last time he held it in his hands. He copies the same path Dean took, stopping to pay special attention to the areas that make Dean react. They aren’t all the same as his own.

His hands work over Dean’s sides and his stomach and he ghosts his fingers over the swell of Dean’s shoulder where his handprint once marked it. Dean’s arms twitch and tighten where they still hold Castiel.

“Why’d you fix it?” Dean mumbles into his hair and Castiel lifts his head from tasting the tattoo above his heart, eyebrow raised in question. Dean’s face is turned and he’s looking down at his shoulder. “It was gone after Stull. When you fixed me up, why’d you get rid of it too?”

Castiel tilts his head and examines Dean’s shoulder. He quirks a small smile and presses his hand unerringly over the exact spot the handprint used to be. He watches Dean closely before sending a pulse of his grace through his palm and fingertips. Dean gives a surprised shout that quickly dissolves into a pleased groan. His back arches almost violently beneath Castiel.

“What the _hell_ was _that_?” Dean gasps, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows.

He moves his hand and the red of the brand burns brightly against Dean’s skin. Castiel leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the center of the palm print. Dean hisses and his hips twitch. Castiel can feel him hard and hot through the layers of clothing they both still wear. It sends a shivering bolt of _want_ to curl low and throbbing in his gut.

They both watch as the mark fades, leaving Dean’s shoulder smooth again. Castiel traces his fingertips over the spot. “Stull was two years after I’d raised you from perdition. It should have healed on its own without leaving a scar within the first year.”

“Why didn’t it?”

Castiel shifts and presses his forehead to Dean’s shoulder. “I was selfish. I liked that humans, demons, angels, that _everyone_ could see that _I_ was the one who pulled you out of Hell. Not Uriel or Hester or anyone else, but _me_. And every time I was around you, I used my grace to keep it in place.”

Dean starts to card his fingers through Castiel’s hair and he pushes up into the touch. Dean’s voice makes the skin beneath his lips vibrate. “That why it went away after Stull? Because you weren’t around to keep it there?”

“My mark is burned onto your soul, Dean. Not your body. It’ll always be there.” He spaces his words with kisses to Dean’s collarbone, following it to the dip at the hollow of his throat. “The moment God brought me back after Stull, I knew I was going to have to leave you and return to Heaven to ‘play sheriff’. At the time, I didn’t think I would see you again. Healing the scar was… me letting you go.”

Dean is quiet and Castiel takes advantage of the silence to suck and bite several red marks around his neck. They’re low enough that the collar of his t-shirt will hide them. He brushes his thumb over his art work and notes the shiver that runs its course through Dean’s body. He moves up to kiss Dean and taste him again. The look in Dean’s eyes stops him cold.

“Is that what happened with Purgatory?” Dean’s voice is flat and hard and he wants to flinch away from it. “You just _‘let me go’_ again?”

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Dean’s leg shifts and he plants his foot on the bed. Castiel lets Dean roll them over until he’s hovering above him. He can’t begin to count the number of different emotions he sees in Dean’s face, in his eyes. But he sees the pain, the hurt and the betrayal.

He reaches up with both hands. He wants to cradle Dean to him and sing promises that he’ll never leave him. Not again, not ever. But Dean grabs his wrists and pins them to the bed beside his head. Castiel doesn’t fight him.

“Why this, Cas? Why now?”

This is a simple answer and Castiel responds without hesitation. “I want you.”

“Since when?”

Castiel frowns. It’s hard to even think of a time when he didn’t want Dean. He’s loved Dean since he first found the ragged smoke-edged light of his soul in Hell. But when did he start to _want_ Dean in this way?

“I don’t know.” He answers truthfully and he doesn’t look away from the confusion that flashes over Dean’s expression. “Since the brothel? Before? After? I don’t _know._ I don’t remember _when_ I started wanting you instead of just loving you.” Dean swallows thickly at those words. Castiel continues. “But Charlie and Sam’s efforts tonight made me realize I can’t stand letting anyone else have you.”

“Did you want me when we were in Purgatory?”

Castiel remembers every single one of Dean’s prayers calling for him. He remembers how much it hurt to hear them and have to stay away. He remembers the sound of Dean’s voice when he was crouched at the riverbank and the smile on Dean’s face. He hadn’t seen him smile like that in too long a time. He remembers how hard it was to not collapse into Dean’s hug and hold onto him and never let go.

“Yes.”

“But you still picked Purgatory.” Dean’s words are accusing and Castiel closes his eyes to them. The hold on his wrist tightens. “Look at me, Cas. I wanna know _why_. Why did you choose _Purgatory_ over _me_?”

Castiel’s jaw clenches against a wave of frustration. This is _not_ how he thought things would be going by now. He opens his eyes and his frustration ebbs at the desperation on Dean’s face. Dean doesn’t understand and he won’t be able to until Castiel explains. Dean won’t be able to accept Castiel like this until he can understand.

“I went to you. Before I made the deal with Crowley, I went to you.”

Dean is still and his eyes are wide.

“You were raking the leaves in the yard. You didn’t know Sam was alive and I could have told you, I _should_ have told you, but I didn’t because Sam didn’t. I thought he knew best. You were out of the hunting business and if I went to you with my problems, I would be putting more weight on your shoulders than you should ever have to bear and I _couldn’t_ do it. Not after everything you did and everything you sacrificed. Not when you had the closest thing to peace you might ever know. I made the deal with Crowley to spare you of my troubles.”

It’s coming in a rush now and Castiel won’t stop it. Dean needs to hear it all. He needs to understand.

“When Sam brought you back to hunting, when you called me down to help with the staff of Moses, I should have told you about the deal. I should have told you what I was planning. I didn’t because it was still more than you should have to bear. I hid it all from you to protect you. It was my war. If I brought you into it, Raphael would have used you against me. It was a war you never would have been able to fight in and I still don’t know of any way you would have been able to help. ”

He pauses and even though Dean tightens his fingers around his wrists again, Castiel closes his eyes. There is a tightness in his throat that makes it hard to swallow, hard to breathe. “And then I betrayed you in the worst way. I tore down Sam’s wall. I hurt the one person you care most about in this world because I knew it would distract you from stopping me. But it didn’t. You still tried. You tried and you failed because I was stubborn and so sure that what I was doing was right. That the souls from Purgatory would help me save what was left of my family.”

Castiel looks up at Dean again. “It took too long to realize that the angels may be my family, but they are not my _family_.”

Dean lets out a shaky breath and his head dips lower. His mouth is only a few inches away and Castiel wants to rise up and presses kisses to it. He wants to trace its edges and taste the smooth veneer of his teeth and the velvet of his tongue. But he can’t because Dean doesn’t understand yet.

“I didn’t deserve to be saved. Not after all that. Not after what I did to you, to Earth, to Heaven. Not after unleashing the Leviathans. But God brought me back anyway. Saving Sam? Killing Dick? That’s not nearly enough penance, Dean. Not after everything I destroyed. Purgatory was where I _belonged_. It’s where I planned to stay even before you found me.”

He swallows around the lump in his throat and takes a deep breath. He holds it for a long moment before continuing. “I wanted you out of Purgatory. I wanted you _safe_. But you… You wouldn’t leave me and I had to get you out. I never wanted to give you false hope, Dean, but going with you was the only way. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to understand how much that hurt, how hard it was to walk with you and deceive you a second time. It took everything I had to let you go again.”

Dean leans down the rest of the way and presses his forehead against Castiel’s, his eyes falling closed. “Was that why you didn’t tell me you wanted me then?”

Castiel frowns. “I don’t understand…”

“I told you I wasn’t going home without you. I told you I needed you. Coz’ I do, Cas. I wanted to wait until we were home, until we were _safe_ to say anything – do anything – about how much I’ve wanted you.” He dips his chin and presses a too soft kiss to his mouth. Castiel tries to chase after it and grunts his disapproval when Dean pulls out of reach. “But then you picked Purgatory over me. I thought I failed you and then you told me I was _wrong_ and that I didn’t fail you and that you _left me._ ”

_“Dean –”_

“And then you came back. You keep coming back to me and what the hell was I supposed to think, Cas? You picked Purgatory over me and I thought you didn’t want me. I couldn’t deal with telling you and risking losing you. I can’t lose you again. I need you, Cas.” He presses his face against Castiel’s neck. “I _need_ you.”

He’s heard enough. And at the same time, he doesn’t think he’ll ever not want to hear it.

Castiel flips them, despite Dean’s startled grunt. Their kisses are rough and desperate. He’s making little noises in the back of his throat and he doesn’t know why but he can’t stop. He mumbles Dean’s name with every breath and he feels like he’s going to explode because Sam was right. Dean loves him and he loves Dean and he can have this. If there is anything he can have, all he needs is _this_. All he needs is _him._

“ _Mine._ ” It comes out as a growl and Castiel ducks his head to press a bite into Dean’s shoulder. He pushes his grace under his skin and Dean jerks up again, hissing out Castiel’s name. He likes the sound of it. The handprint flares back up, red and angry across his shoulder and it stays.

Dean’s hands are on his ass, pulling him down to meet the roll of his hips. The friction is a good burn and fans the fire that’s been burning in his belly since he saw Dean in the bar. He puts his lips to Dean’s ear and nips at the lobe like Dean showed him. He speaks low and soft through his panting breaths. “I need you too, Dean, and I will _always_ come back to you.”

They both know it’s a promise Castiel won’t be able to keep. No matter what, Castiel will always try to protect Dean. He’ll always put himself in danger if it means he can keep Dean safe. And he knows Dean will do the same for him without a second thought. In the lifestyle they lead, those are dangerous paths to take and if Castiel dies, there is no guarantee that God will bring him back again. He doesn’t care. He’ll make that promise over and over because the only thing that will ever keep him from Dean – now that he knows Dean is his as much as he is Dean’s – is _Death._

“ _Cas_.” Dean groans, fingers tightening. “Get these fuckin’ skinny jeans _off_.” Castiel’s grace swells, ready to wish them away with a thought, but Dean dips his thumbs under the waistband. “Do it the slow way, Cas. Wanna see  you strip for me.”

Castiel sits back slowly. Dean is flushed and panting and grinning. He’s watching him from under half-lidded eyes and his hips keep rocking up against him. Castiel presses his lips together and looks down at the button-fly of the jeans. He thumbs them open and stops.

“Dean, I’m aware of what you’re asking...” He lifts his eyes to Dean’s expectant look. “But apparently all the research I’ve done watching television has not prepared me for life on Earth – as you’ve mentioned previously.”

“Cas, if you’re trying to tell me you don’t know how to take off a pair of pants before sex–”

“I know howto take off clothing, Dean.” Castiel looks down at him steadily. Dean’s frowning now and he doesn’t like it. He leans forward to kiss the sulk away and murmurs against his lips. “I have a rudimentary idea of what I should do, but I want you to teach me. Show me what I should do to please you. Tell me how you want me.”

For several seconds Dean does nothing but blink up at him with wide eyes. He squeezes them shut and tilts his head back with a groan. “ _Fuck_.” Dean loops an arm over Castiel’s shoulders and pulls him down into a hard kiss that is little more than a crash of mouths and teeth and tongues.

He rolls them again and starts tracking another course down Castiel’s chest. Dean grunts soft words against his skin between bites and sucking kisses and sweeps of his tongue. “Do you have _any_ idea what you _do_ to me?”

“I have an idea-ah!” His hips jerk when Dean’s tongue dips into his navel. “An idea of what I’d like to do to _you_.”

Dean groans again and rests his forehead against the slope of his stomach. Castiel brushes his fingers through Dean’s hair, dancing them along the back of his neck and across his shoulders. Warm breath is sliding across his skin and into the opening of the jeans. It makes Castiel squirm and buck his hips. He wants more.

He cants his hips upward, searching for friction, for something, for _anything_. Dean doesn’t disappoint. Castiel makes a strangled noise of surprise when Dean mouths at his erection through the front of the jeans. He whines when Dean doesn’t stay long, lips moving down one leg. Dean’s fingers work quickly to divest Castiel of his shoes and socks and then that mouth – that hot, wet, glorious _mouth_ – is back. Castiel squirms to help Dean pull the jeans down off his hips and then Dean’s pulling them off his legs and tossing them away and he’s looking at Castiel like Castiel is something precious, something to be treasured, something to be _kept_.

He reaches for him and Dean comes willingly, but he doesn’t settle against Castiel. He remains just above him, straddling only one of his legs. He’s close enough that Castiel can feel the heat from his skin but far enough that he can’t _feel_ his skin. Dean kisses him slowly, gently, but the kiss is on _fire_. Castiel can’t get enough of the taste of Dean and he paws at the jeans he’s _still_ wearing. He fumbles a hand between them and Dean breaks the kiss to look down and watch as Castiel undoes his belt and opens his jeans.

Castiel’s dick is hard against his stomach and he’s leaking clear little drops of precome. Dean pushes his hands out of the way and finally, _finally_ , touches him. He hisses in pleased surprise when Dean runs the heel of his palm down the length of his dick, fingers curling, cupping, teasing. Castiel’s breath hitches and his hips won’t hold still, rolling in tiny thrusts into Dean’s hand.

It’s still not enough.

Castiel is quick and efficient and maybe just a little frantic. He wants Dean naked and wet and _moving_. Against him, in him, on him, he doesn’t care as long as he gets to _have_ Dean. Dean’s jeans and underpants make it halfway down his thighs before Castiel gives up on them and with a thought, he wishes the rest of his clothing away.

Dean laughs. “Impatient, are we?”

“Yes, I am.” Castiel pulls him back down and Dean open willingly to the insistent push of his tongue. He tastes every corner of his mouth and draws Dean back into his and he groans when Dean pulls away. “ _Dean._ ”

“Shhh, Cas. Just lemme do this, okay?” He kisses him once, lightly, before sitting back on his heels.

Castiel buries his fingers in the blankets before he tries to force Dean back against him. Dean’s hands are on Castiel’s hips, thumbs brushing over the bones. He’s rubbing his own dripping erection against Castiel’s thigh, leaving a little patch of wet that never gets a chance to dry before he’s running over it again. It’s driving Castiel to madness and Dean isn’t even touching him where he wants it the most.

Dean rises up and shuffles until he’s kneeling between Castiel’s legs. Without being asked or told, Castiel spreads his thighs wider and he’s rewarded with a pleased grin.

“Fuck, Cas, there’s so much I want to do to you I don’t even know where to start.”

“Anywhere, Dean. Just _do_ _something_.”

He raises an eyebrow and his grin turns lascivious. “If you say so.”

It’s the only warning Castiel gets before Dean’s is licking a burning stripe up the length of his dick. Castiel cries out and his back bows, hips trying to press up against the downright _sinful_ movements of Dean’s tongue licking, tasting, swirling over him. Dean holds them down firmly and suckles at the head of his cock. He tongues the slit before taking Castiel fully into his mouth and sinking down.

There’s so much warm, wet, heat and Castiel is making noises that sound dangerously close to whimpering and he doesn’t care. He’s panting and scrabbling at the blankets until Dean reaches out and takes his hands. He guides them to the back of his head and Castiel’s fingers are trembling as he runs them through Dean’s hair. He presses gently, urging without words for more.

Dean hums in approval and Castiel’s body spasms, the vibrations sending tingling zigzags of pleasure everywhere. He’s gasping and moaning and crying out Dean’s name and he doesn’t ever want it to stop. He thinks he might always want that soft, warm, wet mouth and the graze of teeth and the hollowed cheeks as Dean bobs along his length, working one hand over what he can’t take.

His other hand is roaming over his hips, his thighs, and brushing against his balls, stopping sometimes to cup them and roll them gently. Every touch is making the fire in his belly coil tighter and burn brighter and Castiel knows what’s going to happen when it reaches the breaking point but he doesn’t _know_ what’s going to _happen_. He’s never felt this thrumming beneath his skin, this electricity that dances along his bones and makes his limbs twitch and his toes curl.

Dean presses his thumb to a spot behind Castiel’s balls and he rubs it firmly. It’s like gasoline to the inferno boiling in his gut and it makes Castiel _writhe._ He’s chanting Dean’s name and he’s not even sure if he’s speaking English anymore and he doesn’t _care_. His whole world has narrowed down to Dean and where he’s touching him and when Dean pulls off his dick with a wet pop Castiel almost _cries._

Dean shushes him with a hand over his mouth and one command. “Lick.”

And Castiel obeys. He coats Dean’s palm and sucks on his fingers, working his tongue around the digits and biting at them softly when Dean pulls them away. Castiel thinks he knows what to expect next and he hitches his legs wider that extra little bit. It earns him an almost wistful smile.

“Sorry Cas, but I don’t think I’m gonna last long enough for that.”

Castiel doesn’t pout, but it’s a near thing. Instead, he watches as Dean reaches down with the hand he wetted for him. Dean strokes himself, thumb swiping over his leaking head and spreading the wetness along his length. Castiel licks his lips and he wants to know what Dean tastes like there too.  “Next time, then.”

Dean hips jerk forward and his response is lost in a gasp because Castiel is pressing the pad of his finger against the head of Dean’s dick. He watches with wide eyes as Castiel rubs his finger over the sensitive crown, gathering the beading precome there. Dean outright _groans_ when he brings his hand back to his lips and sucks his finger clean.

Castiel is surprised when Dean rips his hand away and replaces his finger with his tongue. He’s chasing his own taste and Castiel closes his eyes and lets him. He moans when he realizes the flavor on Dean’s tongue is _his._

There’s a hand under his thigh and he lets Dean guide his leg up until he understands what Dean wants. He hooks his leg around Dean’s hips and Castiel chokes out a pleased groan when Dean finally presses down their hips together. Dean ruts against him with a few slow, measured thrusts that slide their cocks together in a delicious mix of wet and friction. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders to keep him there.

He wants Dean’s kisses through the rest of this. He wants to see his face and eyes as Dean comes undone above him. Because of him. Because Dean is finding pleasure in the feel of Castiel’s vessel and the sound of his voice.

Dean’s hand is on him again. It’s on them both, squeezing and pumping in all the places Castiel didn’t know were right. They thrust with erratic rolls of their hips into the tight tunnel of Dean’s fingers until they find a rhythm that has Castiel whimpering and gasping and pleading into Dean’s kisses.

The fire has spread into Castiel’s chest now. It’s burning behind his ribs and through his stomach and deep into his gut. It’s blazing down his legs and up into his arms and he’s so _close_ to something and he might be begging Dean to get him there because he doesn’t know how to reach it. Dean knows. He leaves Castiel’s lips despite Castiel’s groan of disappointment and presses kisses along his jaw to his ear again.

“It’s okay, Cas. I got’cha.” Dean drags his tongue over the sensitive skin under his ear. His voice is sandpaper rough and he’s breathing almost as hard as Castiel is. “Let _go._ ” He punctuates the order with the sharp sting of teeth.

Castiel clutches at his handprint on Dean’s shoulder and arches off the bed. His loud cry is drowned out by the ringing in his ears and he almost doesn’t feel the splash of warmth on his stomach as he comes over Dean’s fingers. The inferno raging under his skin ruptures his control and Castiel realizes it was never a fire. It’s his _grace_ that’s burning. His wings rip out of the sub-space and everything goes white and _perfect_ and Castiel hopes Dean noticed the signs and closed his eyes.

Castiel comes back to the senses of his vessel slowly. His body feels heavy and satiated and content. His hand is still clamped firmly over Dean’s shoulder. Dean is collapsed on top of him, trembling and breathing hard against his neck.

“Dean…?” His name comes out slurred.

He stirs slightly and his back jerks in a huff of tired laughter. “Holy fuckin’ _Christ_. Warn a guy before you pull out the fireworks, Cas.”

“If it’s any consolation, I was just as surprised by it as you were.” Castiel murmurs, trailing his fingers lightly over Dean’s back, mapping the musculature. “Are you alright? Did you…?”

Dean laughs again and rolls to the side. Castiel looks down at the sticky mess smeared over his belly. It’s on Dean’s hand too. He wonders if Dean would mind if he cleaned them with his ‘mojo’. Although he’s very tempted to clean Dean’s fingers with his tongue instead.

He looks at him and Dean’s eyes are barely open, a lazy, satisfied grin stretching his lips. “M’fine, Cas. And I did. I most _definitely_ did. ‘Bout the time you decided to pump up the angel juice and send it all right through this.” He gestures limply at his left shoulder with his dirty hand and then frowns at the mess on it.

In the space of one blink and the next, the mess is gone and Dean doesn’t even look surprised. Instead, he wiggles his arm under Castiel’s shoulders and pulls him tight against his side. Castiel can feel the press of lips against his temple and up to his hairline.

Dean mumbles softly, almost drunkenly, into his hair. “I don’t wanna move for the next week. I think grace-induced orgasms might be the best thing since… _ever._ ”

Castiel smiles and tentatively wraps his arm around Dean’s chest. “Better than pie?”

He chuckles and hums in thought, but Castiel doesn’t get an answer. Dean’s breathing evens out into long, deep swells beneath Castiel’s cheek. He smells of sweat and salt and the ever lingering tang of the impala’s leather and metal. He smells like Dean and _home._

Castiel fumbles blindly until he pulls the edge of the blanket up, folding it over them so Dean will stay warm. He curls as close as he can get and closes his eyes. He hasn’t slept since those brief days before Stull when he was human, but he’s content to lay here in the silence, the room lit by the street lamp through the window, while Dean sleeps.

x

Dean has been sleeping for nearly an hour when Castiel hears the rumble of the impala outside the house. He doesn’t move from his place pressed along Dean’s side, head on his shoulder and his cheek against the mark. He hears the key in the lock downstairs and he doesn’t open his eyes.

Sam and Charlie are talking as they come in. Castiel spares a brief moment of worry that they might wake Dean. He focuses a soft pulse of grace to ensure Dean remains sleeping and he listens to their conversation.

“Is he answering his cell yet?”

“No. Neither of them are.”

“Well where the heck could they be? Dean didn’t even take his car. You gonna tell him you hotwired it?”

“Hell no! And neither are you. As for where they are, your guess is as good as mi–” There is a heavy thud. “Ow! _Shit!_ ”

“Careful, genius. That would be the coffee table.”

“Thank you for that precious piece of information.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Would you just turn on a light already?”

“Nope.”

“ _Charlie_.”

“I already flicked the switch. The lights are burnt out or something.”

“All the lights?” Caution is creeping into Sam’s tone.

There’s silence for a moment. “Yeah, even in the kitchen. It’s not a power outage though, because the stove and microwave clocks are still on. I’ve got some candles in the bedroom, be right back.”

“Wait.” Sam’s voice drops lower. “Every light in your house shouldn’t be busted all at once. _Something_ might be here.”

Castiel winces. That would be his fault. He’ll tell Dean about it later and they can go shopping to replace all of Charlie’s light bulbs. They should get her a gift too. Something as a thank you for the kick in the pants they needed.

Charlie starts whispering too. “What should we do?”

“You have a flashlight app on your phone?”

“Duh.”

“Use it and stay behind me.”

Castiel hears the click of a gun being cocked. Their footsteps are light and near silent as they check the house. He could easily wing his way downstairs to tell them that it is only Dean and him here. But doing so would require leaving the warmth of Dean’s side and that isn’t something Castiel is willing to do. Now or ever.

He can hear them coming up the stairs now and he turns his face, pressing his nose against Dean’s neck. Castiel shifts that little bit closer and smiles when Dean’s arm tightens around his shoulders. Dean makes a small snuffling noise but Castiel’s small surge of grace keeps him from waking.

There is brief wash of light against his eyelids, but Castiel doesn’t react to it. There are two soft ‘oh’s. Charlie’s exhalation doesn’t end with that.

“Oh _come on_. Not in my frakkin’ _bed!_ ”

**END**


End file.
